


The Whumptober, Double Feature, Fic-ture Show:  Mac

by SabbyStarlight



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: 2x04, 2x15, 3x11, 3x13, A bomb in a cave, Abandonment Issues, And the nightmares that followed, Angst, Angus MacGyver is a grade A klutz and you'll never convince me otherwise, Blood, Bombs, Breathing issues, Broken Bones, Bruises, Burns, Car Accidents, Dehydration, Drugged Mac is becoming a thing this month huh?, Early DXS Days, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e09 CD-ROM + Hoagie Foil, Even more drugged Mac, Exhaustion, Fever Checks, Flashbacks, Food Poisoning, Gen, Glasses, Headaches & Migraines, Hidden Injuries, High fevers and low inhibitions lead to cuddles, Hurt Mac, Hurt/Comfort, Jack Angst, Kinda, Mac's first GSW, Mac+Fallout+Jack, Missing Scene, Missions Gone Wrong, More sandbox, Murdoc+Handcuffs tag, Nerve gas exposure, Nightmares, Oxygen masks and their canonical triggers, Panic Attacks, Pepper Spray, Phoenix Med, Pneumonia, Protective Jack, Sleep Deprivation, Splinter - Freeform, Spy School, Stab Wound, This is the last time (this month) that I hurt Mac's hands I swear, Torture, Whump, Wilderness+Training+Survival, Worried Jack, Would it really be Whumptober without a mention of Mac's fear of heights?, X-Ray+Penny, bullet graze, bullet wounds, drugged Mac, heat exhaustion, infections, sandbox, what could go wrong?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 62,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26747506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabbyStarlight/pseuds/SabbyStarlight
Summary: Happy Whumptober!!!Welcome to the home of thirty-one new hurt Mac fics!Prompt 31: Today's Special:  Torture!
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 239
Kudos: 190
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Let's Hang Out Sometime

"Sorry," Jack apologized again, eyes flicking up to meet Mac's as he pulled another strand of nylon fiber out of Mac's torn palm. "I'm sorry, kiddo."

"It's okay," Mac assured, determination steeling in his blue eyes. "Keep going."

Jack sighed, looking down at the hand held in his own, locking in on the pieces left to go before they could be finished. "It ain't okay. I'm hurting you."

"If you don't want to deal with it, I'll be fine till we get back home," Mac offered. There was no way he was getting out of a visit to Phoenix Med anyway, not with the rope burns running through the skin of both his palms. The nylon fibers that had torn free from the rope and embedded themselves in his hands were an added bonus, one Jack had been determined to take care of as soon as they had boarded the plane. "It's not a big deal."

"No, I ain't leavin' them in there any longer than we already did," Jack sighed, wishing the universe would have cooperated with them for once and he could have had time to properly take care of Mac's hands as soon as he had discovered the injury. Running for your life in the middle of a Bosnian forest had a tendency to move first aid to the back burner. "I just hate that I'm hurting you." Jack focused his sights, and the pair of medical-grade tweezers that were tiny held in his hands, on the next offending strand, bright blue against the torn red of Mac's skin.

"It isn't-" Mac's words cut off, interrupted by a sharp hiss as the piece was pulled free. "that bad."

"For a super spy, you sure are a terrible liar," Jack teased, forcing himself not to react to Mac's pain, choosing instead to continue on, as much as it hurt both of them, knowing that pausing would only postpone the pain and the only way out was through. "You know, you don't have to be all tough on my account. I know this hurts, you don't have to pretend like it don't."

"It's not exactly pleasant," Mac agreed, trying to keep his face impassive as Jack pulled another strand free. It must have been the last one, because he lifted the hand up to his eyes, carefully turning it this way and that, squinting against the dim plane lighting. Mac fought back a sigh of relief at the premise that they were halfway done. That hope quickly shifted to dread when Jack began carefully working on tugging the first strand on his other hand free and he realized that they were only halfway done.

Jack, of course, noticed. "You wanna take a break?"

"Thought you said you didn't want to leave them in any longer than we had to?" Mac asked, knowing that wasn't what Jack had meant but relying on the easy flow of familiar teasing to soothe the pain.

"Said I wasn't gonna wait till we made it all the way home," Jack continued, adding another strand of nylon to the ever-growing pile on the fold-down table beside him. "Not that I wouldn't give you a few minutes to catch your breath if you needed to. I ain't that mean."

"I'm okay to keep going if you are," Mac sighed, tensing the muscles of his arm even more to keep himself from pulling away from the pain on instinct.

"Almost done," Jack promised. "Just a few left."

Mac nodded, closing his eyes and leaning back against his seat, waiting for it to be over.

"That's the last of 'em," Jack declared, dropping the tweezers down onto the table with a clang. "You feel up to walkin' back to the sink so I can wash those hands of yours off real good or you want to stay there, let me find a bowl or somethin' and bring the sink to you?"

Mac's face twisted into a grimace, not loving either option. "Thought you said we were done?"

"Yeah, done gettin' all those little pieces of rope out. Not a pair of tweezers in the world small enough to take care of all the germs you got swimmin' around on there. Gotta leave that one up to good old soap and water."

Knowing he was right, Mac sighed, nodding towards the tiny little bathroom at the back of the plane. "I'm right behind you. No point in making a mess out here."

There was barely enough space in the room for both of them to fit, scrunched side-by-side in front of the wall-mounted sink. Somehow, his hands looked worse, Mac thought, in the harsh light than they did out in the cabin of the plane. He was so focused on the harsh red welts spanning across the sensitive skin of both his palms that he flinched at the sound of Jack turning the water on, the steady stream bouncing off the stainless steel basin.

"You okay?" He asked, ducking his head to catch Mac's eyes.

"Yeah," Mac nodded, offering a shaky smile to try and convince Jack that it was true. "Just been a long day."

"We're almost done," Jack assured. "For real this time. Need you to trust me one more time and then I'll leave you alone and let you relax the rest of the trip home." He held out his hands expectantly, sympathetic brown eyes that always managed to reflect Mac's hurts right back at him, asking him to forgive the pain he was about to cause.

Mac braced himself as he placed his hands in each of Jack's, letting him pull the torn and weeping skin under the rush of warm water, holding them there as Mac hissed and tried to pull away as the pain hit.

"Sorry, gotta do it," Jack murmured, steeling his resolve and ignoring every instinct that was screaming at him to give in to Mac's obvious distress. To stop whatever he was doing that was hurting his partner, because he, of all people, should know better than to hurt the kid he had sworn to protect. But infection could set in quickly, and that was a threat that even he couldn't defend Mac from, so he wasn't going to take his chances. It didn't ease the guilt though, as he broke the moment of peace Mac had fallen into, having grown used to the water, by adding a palm-full of antibacterial soap and lathering it across the broken skin, rekindling the pain tenfold. "I know, I know," He soothed, pointless words that didn't offer much in terms of comfort other than a familiar cadence for Mac to latch on to. "Breathe, bud. You gotta breathe through it."

"Stings," Mac hitched out, breath catching on the single syllable as he followed Jack's instructions and pulled in a ragged breath. "Stings a little bit."

"Yeah, probably a little more than a little," Jack grinned. Mac's stubbornness never failed to amaze him. The talking did it's job though and kept Mac distracted, eyes tightly screwed shut, as Jack added a second round of soap to his hands. When Mac didn't immediately buck from the pain, he allowed himself a breath of relief. The worst was over. "Think we're about done though."

"Yeah?" The hopefulness in the word was another shot to Jack's heart that he ignored, pushed aside to deal with later, once Mac was safe and sound.

"Yup. Get this rinsed off and that's as good as it's gonna get with what we've got to work with here."

"Kay," Mac agreed, shoulders sagging in relief when Jack carefully laid his hands down on the counter and reached around him to snag a couple of towels off the shelf. Patting the wounds dry wasn't without its own pain, but it was nothing compared to the previous hurts.

"Alright, not quite good as new," Jack announced, tossing the towels damp and flecked with spots of blood, into the corner and grabbing a new one to dry off his own hands with. "But a hell of a lot closer. I'm not gonna wrap 'em up if that's okay with you. Let some air dry them out a little."

Mac nodded, stepping out of the cramped room first, before turning back to Jack. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Jack waved the thanks off, not feeling deserving of it at all since it had only hurt Mac more. "Go on, get comfy on the couch out there. Rest until we land and can let someone who actually knows what they're doing finish up what I started."

"I mean it," Mac continued, waiting to make sure Jack was right behind him before returning to the cabin. "Thanks. I know it hurt you as much as it hurt me, but there's nobody I'd trust more."

And that admission, the truth behind the words shining brighter than the pain in Mac's eyes, was enough for healing to truly begin.


	2. In The Hands Of The Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join me in pretending Jack didn't get the photo that was the beginning of the end in this episode, okay? Kovacs who? 

Mac is woken up by the sound of his partner's voice. It's a familiar sound, and far from the first time it has roused him from a slumber, but something about the moment feels different. There's a sense of relief that comes with it, more than usual, but he can't push past the haze clogging his drug-addled mind to remember why. Drugs. Post-op drugs, by the feeling of them. Never a good sign. Maybe that was why? It was then that he realized that the answer might be in what Jack was saying, not the fact that he was there and talking to begin with. Jack was always talking. A constant chatter in the background that helped keep Mac from getting too far lost in his own thoughts. It didn't usually matter what was being said, but he focused on the words this time anyway, just in case they would help. 

"Thought we agreed that you weren't allowed to go and burn these anymore?" Jack asked, and Mac strained to listen, searching for more information. "They're too important, remember? You gotta take care of these hands, brother. The world needs 'em. Hell, forget the world, I need 'em."

Hands. He was talking about his hands. He had to be, the only burns Mac had sustained lately had been his hands, when he pulled Jack and the flaming coffin he was trapped in, out of the incinerator. The guilt that had followed that incident, shining bright in Jack's eyes for weeks as he changed bandages and applied creams and helped Mac with the most basic tasks that he couldn't manage with his fumbling bandages had almost been worse than the pain of the actual burns. Almost. Burns were awful, anyone who had ever had to deal with them would agree, but he had pulled through and Jack's hovering had, eventually, fizzled back down to its usual setting. But by the way Jack was talking he had managed to go and burn his hands, or at least one of them, again. And unless a substantial amount of time had passed without him realizing it, it had been a year, almost exactly to the date, of the last burn incident. That fact would have been impressive if he hadn't been peering down the potential scope of another months-long burn rehab. 

How would he have managed to burn his hands again? Actually, it wouldn't be that difficult considering what he did for a living. He was pondering the statistics of that question, wondering if he could get his mind to focus long enough on the numbers and equations to work out the math without writing it out. He was nearly halfway through before he remembered that he was supposed to be listening to Jack, and probably, if he was being honest, waking up, instead of halfheartedly working on a hypothetical question straight out of an honors algebra class and the numbers arranging themselves into order in his mind fell away as his attention shifted focus. 

"Least this one wasn't my fault," Jack was saying. "Though I'm still feelin' awful sorry that I wasn't there to protect you, so maybe it was. If I'd been there they wouldn't have been able to get their slimy paws on you and we wouldn't be in this mess. So yeah, guess this one's on me too." 

It was such a rare occurrence for Jack to not be with him, especially on a mission, that it was the only clue Mac needed to fill in the blanks and the past few days came rushing back to him in a wave of memories he wished he could forget. Taking Bozer and Riley on their first wilderness survival training course, without Jack who was accompanying Matty on a mission of her own. Gio and his team, who were now no longer alive, taking him in the earliest hours of daybreak. The trek through difficult terrain. A bullet in his leg. Which would explain the surgery he was waking up from but not the burns. Burn. Fire. The hard-won moment of distraction that came from tossing a handful of burning coals at his captor. It all came rushing back to him and he remembered the breath-stealing pain of Bozer and Riley's impressive field dressing and being dragged through the woods. 

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there to keep you safe," Jack continued. Jack. Right. He was supposed to be listening to Jack. "Now I just need you to wake up so I can say that to your face. Well, your conscious face. This don't count." 

" 'M'wake," Mac mumbled, voice hoarse, even to his own ears, and he found himself wondering if he had somehow managed to swallow some of the million rocks the litter jarringly bounced across on the way back to Freddy's. It certainly felt and sounded like it. 

"Mac?" The relief in Jack's voice was unmistakable, desperate enough for Mac to push through the blurry slowness of sleep trying to pull him back under. "You back with me?" A hand, warm and rough and familiar came to rest against his cheek, fingers twisting into the hair at the nape of his neck while a thumb swept across Mac's cheek, encouraging eyes to open. 

"Think so?" He hadn't meant for it to be a question, but as soon as he said it he decided it was appropriate. He honestly wasn't quite sure if he was completely awake yet. Or if he wanted to be. Awake, after the events that had landed him in the first hospital Matty had been able to clear for his arrival, was going to hurt and he wasn't sure if he was ready to deal with that yet. 

As if he could read his mind, which Jack had often joked about being able to do and the further into their friendship they got the more Mac started to wonder if it was less of a joke and more of a secret superpower, Jack answered his fears. "You ain't gonna be hurtin'. Not yet, at least. They've got you flyin' so high you couldn't feel a thing even if you wanted to. Now c'mon, I've been waitin' here long enough," Jack pleaded softly, so desperate to make sure Mac was okay that he wasn't above begging. "Think you can crack those eyes open and talk to me for a little while?"

It was a difficult task, pulling gritty eyelids apart and squinting up against the stinging bright light, but after everything Jack had done for him over the years it was the least he could do. The weight of tension that drained from him as soon as he was able to focus on Jack's face beside him though, was worth it. As long as he was actually there. Mac wasn't sure how accurate his memories were, but among the flashes of white-hot pain and the stress of worrying and feeling as if an integral piece of the puzzle that made him up was missing, he was pretty sure there at the end he was imagining Jack was with them instead of half a country away. And with the drugs flooding his system, he had no way of trusting that the Jack sitting beside him, gentle and soothing, was any less real than the one who had been walking beside him, familiar words coaching through the worst of the pain across the roughest patches of the trip back to Freddy's. "You really here?" 

"Yeah, buddy, I'm really here," Jack promised, a sad smile passing across his face at the question before it was replaced, pushed aside by the even more powerful guilt. "Guess I can't blame you for wonderin' though." 

"You sure?" 

"I'm sure. I'm right here, Mac," and because Jack had never given him a reason not to trust him, had never broken a promise or gone back on his word, Mac believed him. 

"Missed you," Mac whispered, offering a small smile of his own, trying to ease some of the guilt that Jack was battling. "Was wishing you were there with us for a lot of that one." At speaking of the rest of their team, Mac suddenly realized, looking around the unfamiliar but somehow always the same no matter where it was located hospital room, that Riley and Bozer were nowhere to be found. 

"They're okay," Jack assured, tracking Mac's train of thought again, as easily as if it was his job. Which, it kind of was. "Riley and Bozer are safe and sound. Tired and hungry but they're alright. They stuck around here until I made it then I sent 'em to go get somethin' to eat other than cattails and get some rest." 

"Ri's leg," Mac remembered, vague images of Bozer's torn sleeve wrapped tightly around her thigh. "Think she was hurt." He let his eyes slip closed at the memory, guilt wracking his mind when he realized he hadn't even taken a moment to check on her, too busy focusing on his own hurts. 

"Huh-uh," Jack scolded gently, tapping against Mac's cheek to get him to open his eyes again. "You're stayin' awake for a little while. I need to see those blue eyes. Went too long thinkin' I wouldn't get to see 'em ever again. Ri's fine. Just a little scraped up," He promised when Mac, unable to directly disobey an order despite his stubborn streak, peered back up at him again. "Bozer had already made her get checked out, have it cleaned up before I got here. Which didn't stop me from checkin' her over myself, but really, kiddo, she's fine. Everyone's just worryin' about you at the moment." 

"I'm okay," Mac assured automatically before realizing that he didn't, in fact, know that for sure. "Right? I'm okay?" 

"You're okay," Jack promised, letting his hand slip down, thumb resting against the pulse point of Mac's neck, needing the constant thump beneath his fingers to prove that point to himself. "They patched up your leg. Bullet missed bone, just barely, so you got lucky there. Though you're gonna have a hard time hoppin' around on crutches with that hand you had to go and flambe. But I think you might have caught the back half of my lecture on that so we'll hold off on pickin' it back up for now." 

Mac nodded slowly, processing the list of injuries. "I think that was all?" He asked, looking to his partner for confirmation. If there had been something else it was eluding his memory. 

"Unless you wanna count the raging infection you're fighting off," Jack sent a pointed look to the IV pole beside Mac's bed. "Yeah, that's the worst of it. But I think that's plenty. I know you're a bit of an overachiever, but damn kid, you don't have to go this hard all the time. 'Specially when I'm not there to pick up the pieces."

Infection. Mac had known it was a likely possibility. It had taken hours, despite Riley and Bozer's best efforts, to get him out of the woods and there was only so much hastily ground up yarrow could do when it came to fighting off the dangers that came from a bullet wound in the middle of nowhere. It wasn't a good diagnosis, but it wasn't something new to him and there was no reason for him to not recover. Oddly enough, it was almost relieving, hearing that there was something other than the drugs knocking him as far off his game as he was. There was a reason for his overemotional state and hallucinated partner and wave of relief that washed over him every time he realized that this time Jack really was there. 

"You okay?" Jack asked softly, worried lines deepening across his forehead at Mac's silence before Mac had a chance to realize that he had gotten lost in his own thoughts again. Another thing he would blame on the infection if ever asked. 

"How'd you make it here?" He asked in reply, needing to be sure it was real. "You were with Matty." 

"We were finishin' up when Bozer called us," Jack explained, carefully laying down Mac's bandaged hand and reaching across the bed to grasp his uninjured one, shifting lines and wires carefully until he could solidly wrap his fingers around Mac's without anything intercepting. "Matty pulled some strings, knew there was no point in trying, I was getting to you one way or another. Got me on the first plane headed up here. Sorry I didn't make it sooner." 

"Not like I was awake anyway," Mac teased, giving Jack's warm hand a squeeze. "And you're here now."

"Damn right, I am," Jack nodded, determination flashing in his eyes. "And I know you hate it when I get all hovery, but you're just gonna have to deal with me bein' a little overprotective for a nice long while. Cause I ain't letting you out of my sight any time soon. You scared me, Mac. This time was a little too close and I was a lot too far away." 

"Scared myself," Mac admitted. Normally, he would have been annoyed, at least somewhat, by Jack's hovering and mother hen routine when he made it home from the hospital. But after thinking several times that he wasn't going to make it out of that forest alive, he would willingly put up with it. "There were a couple times back there that I didn't think I was gonna make it out. Thought the next time you saw me would be when you were leading the recovery team to pack my body out of those woods."

Jack winced at the image, not willing to admit out loud that the thought had crossed his mind as well.. “Okay, now, let’s not go thinkin’ things like that, okay? Today has been stressful enough without wastin' energy on those kinda ideas. You don't need to be thinking about anything other than getting better. "

"Just saying," Mac offered a sleepy shrug, the emotional rollercoaster he had been trapped on had finally ground to a halt and he was coming down from one hell of an adrenaline crash. Though the surgical drugs and the infection-induced fever probably weren't helping. "I might not hate having you around. Knowing you're watching out, there if I need you. This one kinda scared me."

Ruining an emotionally heavy moment with humor was one of Jack's specialties, so he forced a teasing grin and ignored the pressure of relieved tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. "So I need to be prepared for a needy, clingy, idiot of a genius this time, huh? Maybe that psycho in the woods went and shot some sense into you?"

"Wouldn't go that far," Mac grinned, seeing through the act for what it was. "I just missed you on this one. Might feel a little safer if you stay close."

"It's a good thing I don't plan on leavin' then, ain't it?" Jack smiled back. "Cause seriously, dude, after this whole thing of you goin' off traipsing through the wilderness and trying to die without me bein' there to keep you safe? I'm gonna be your shadow for the foreseeable future. Where you go, I go."

"You go kaboom, I go kaboom," Mac repeated the promise that he had heard a million times, voice breaking in the middle from a yawn.

"Exactly, brother," Jack nodded. "Exactly." He would never admit it, if asked he would argue that it was solely for Mac's comfort, more of a habit than a reassurance to himself, but with one hand locked securely around Mac's, he let the other drift up to comb through blonde hair. It was a mess, one of the first things Jack had noticed when he was finally allowed in Mac's room, as soon as he convinced himself that his heart was beating and his lungs were pumping, was the disarray his hair was in. Not that it was ever very orderly to begin with, wayward strands constantly falling across his forehead and into his eyes, but it was a mess. Grimey with dried sweat and blood and other remnants of his camping trip gone awry, and laying weirdly until Jack remembered that knit cap Mac always packed for wilderness sessions and used more like a headband than an actual hat. He had done his best to comb it into order whole waiting for Mac to wake up, but he knew how soothing Mac found the motion of Jack's hands in his hair and the last thing Jack wanted to do was let the kid out of his reach again, so it was a win-win for both of them. "You can go on back to sleep, you've gotta be tired."

"So're you," Mac mumbled, words beginning to slur as his eyes dropped closed against his will. "You even stop and sleep the whole time you were on that secret gig?"

"Nah, drove straight through. Kinda time sensitive," The whole mess was awkward enough without spending the night in a hotel somewhere. "Got some rest on the plane up here though. I'm good. Don't worry about me." 

" 's a lie," Mac accused, forcing himself to cling to consciousness a little while longer, focusing on the dark circles beneath Jack's brown eyes, evidence of the fatigue he was stubbornly fighting off. "You were too busy worrying." 

"Well I'm not done worrying yet," Jack smiled, making one final pass through Mac's hair before reaching down to pull the thin hospital blanket further up his chest. "I need to sit here like a creep and watch you breathin' for a little while. Try to convince myself you're alright before I even think about going to sleep." He knew the image of Mac bleeding out in the forest, asking for a partner, an overwatch, who couldn't even be bothered to do his job and stay at his side, would be following him into his dreams for weeks. It wasn't a battle he was ready to fight yet, not when he hadn't even had the time to fully process it while he was awake yet. "You get some sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up." 

"No I won't," Mac protested, though he snuggled deeper into the covers just the same. "Be hurting again by then." 

He was right, as much as Jack hated to admit it. By the time he woke up the strongest of the meds would have worn off and he would be left with pain that he would still be feeling regardless of whatever was still pumping through his IV. But Mac had enough to worry about without focusing on that. "You'll be alright," Jack assured. "We'll be okay." 

"You're staying?" Mac asked, unable to keep the trace of hopeful disbelief out of his voice. 

"Course I'm staying," Jack promised, pretending that he wasn't blaming himself for allowing that fear to slip into Mac's mind to begin with. "I'll be right here. The whole time you're sleepin' and I'll be right here when you wake up, okay?" 

"Kay," Mac agreed, finally giving in and allowing himself to drift off to sleep. 

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there kiddo," Jack said again, tightening his grip on Mac's unburned hand. No matter how many times he said it, and he was sure he was going to be saying it a lot more over the coming days, it wasn't enough. But the only thing he could do was keep his promise to be there for Mac, even when he wasn't even awake to know Jack was there or not. "But I'm here now. And I'm not goin' 'anywhere."


	3. My Way Or The Highway

“Hey, you need any help in here?” Jack’s voice came from the doorway of Mac’s room and Mac couldn’t help but grin. He was honestly surprised Jack had managed to wait as long as he had before coming to check on him.

“I’m okay,” Mac assured, finishing pulling on the softest t-shirt he could find over his head before offering to let Jack in so he wouldn’t have to bother pretending the simple task of getting dressed didn’t hurt. He didn’t’ notice until he was staring down at a Guns N Roses logo that the shirt was an old one of Jack’s that had been left in his own laundry at some point. That was the story, at least, if Jack called him out on it. Not that there was an inherent comfort that came from stealing his partner’s clothes that was a close second to actually having said partner there when he was hurting. Either way, Mac decided, he wasn’t going through the ordeal of taking the shirt back off. “You can come in, you know. Don’t have to stand there hovering at the doorway.”

“I was givin’ you some privacy,” Jack said as he pushed the door open and strode into the room. “Something you usually appreciate when you’re tryin’ to take a shower.”

“True, but you’re driving yourself crazy worrying about me every time I step out of your direct line of sight.” 

"Do we need to rehash what happened the last time you were on your own?" Jack threatened, the flash of memory darkening his eyes. "Cause you got a Jeep with a caved-in driver's side that had to be towed back to your driveway earlier today to remind us if you need a quick refresher." 

"That truck would have hit me no matter who was driving," Mac pointed out as he slowly dropped to sitting on the edge of his bed. "I figured you'd be glad it was my Jeep that got hit and not one of your cars." 

"Hey, as much as I love those cars? And I do, love those cars," Jack insisted, waiting until Mac's eyes met his own before continuing. "I love you more. I know I don't always go around sayin' it but, you know that, right?" 

The admission was a rare occurrence and Mac hadn't been prepared for it. "This one really scared you up, huh?" He teased, unsure of how to respond. 

"You have no idea," Jack agreed. "Gettin' that call from Matty, saying you had been in an accident and had asked her to work her magic and reroute first responders who would have whisked you away to the closest ER. Still don't know why you didn't call me first, though." 

"Trust me, I thought about it," Mac promised. "And you would have been the next one on the list if Matty hadn't told me she would take care of letting you know."

"You just didn't want me showin' up at the scene and causing even more of a fuss."

"Waiting for me at the back entrance to Phoenix Med was dramatic enough." 

"Still think those guys could have got you there faster," Jack grumbled. 

"Jack. I'm fine." It was far from the first time since the accident that Mac had said those words but it was obvious his partner still didn't believe them. 

"You're not fine, you're hurting and bruised all to hell," Jack argued, tugging down the collar of what he had noticed was one of his old shirts, away from Mac's neck to look at the harsh line of bruising from the seatbelt as it mingled in with the less severe bruises left behind from the deployed airbags. "I can't believe they didn't keep you overnight." 

"They kept me most of the day," Mac reminded him, batting away probing fingers. "And couldn't find anything worse than some bruises. There was no reason to keep me. I didn't even land a concussion this time."

"You're still gonna be sore for a few days," Jack sighed. 

"Nothing I can't sleep off," Mac shifted enough, biting back a wince at the movement, to pull the blankets out from under him so he could lay down. "It's gonna take the Jeep way longer to recover from this one than it will me." 

"We'll fix her up," Jack promised. He had already snuck out to the driveway while Mac was sleeping after the towing company had dropped it off and while the damage had been substantial, it wasn't beyond repair. "It'll take a little work but it's nothing that between the two of us we can't get back on the road, good as new." 

"And I've got a few days off to work on it." 

"No, now I think you better take those days off to heal up," Jack suggested as he pulled the blankets up over Mac's chest. "Jeeps are replaceable. Mac's aren't." 

"Depends on if you're talking about the computers or not," Mac teased. His smile was tired and a little pained, but authentic and it eased some of the worry hammering away in Jack's own chest. 

"I'm not and you know it." 

"Yeah, I know," Mac reached over to his nightstand to plug his phone in to charge but Jack took it and the charging cord out of his hands to do it himself. "Thanks for sticking around. You didn't have to." 

"You seriously think I was going to just skedaddle on home and leave you here?" Jack asked. "After the morning you've had? You couldn't pay me enough to leave. I gotta make sure you're okay."

"You're going to be sneaking in here being a creep and watching me all night, aren't you?" 

"No," Jack scoffed before thinking about his response. "Well, actually, yeah. Probably. But there ain't nothin' creepy about makin' sure my kid's safe." 

"I'm alright." 

"I know," Jack nodded. "But you almost weren't. So you're just gonna have to put up with me hovering for a day or two. This morning scared me, buddy. And if you're going off and getting into car crashes without my permission the least you can do is let me oversee the recovery."

"A random guy ran a random stoplight," Mac reminded him. "There was nothing you could have done." 

Jack didn't bring up how if he had picked Mac up for work and driven both of them in, the entire mess would have been avoided. Either by Jack being the one in the driver's seat and getting hurt or the detour to swing by Mac's house putting them a few minutes later and they would have missed the truck and its driver with an abhorrent disregard for traffic laws. The second option was ideal, simply because it kept Jack's cars -and he had driven the Stingray that day, it would have taken them ages to rebuild her- and his kid safe. But he couldn't go back in time and change things, much as he had wished over the course of his life that he could. All he could do was try and make things better as fast as the universe kept screwing them up. 

"Go on and get some rest, kid," Jack adjusted the blankets over Mac one more time before switching the lamp off and plunging the room into darkness. "I ain't gonna let anything else hurt you today." 

He would make sure that was a promise he kept even if he had to stand guard all night. He might not be able to keep Mac safe from all the dangers in the world, but as long as he was there beside him? He was going to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not even gonna lie about it, I originally had Jack driving them to work but I didn't have it in me to wreck one of Jack's cars. My apologies to Mac's Jeep.


	4. Running Out Of Time

“I can’t disarm it.”

Mac could probably count on one hand the number of times he’s had to say that while staring down the ticking clock attached to a bomb. The words tasted all wrong, bitter and acidic in his mouth and he knew, as soon as he turned around to face Jack, that he hadn’t been successful in hiding his panic.

Jack was.

“Alright then,” He shrugged as if Mac hadn’t just told him that their chances of surviving what had already been a highly dangerous mission had just dropped significantly. “Guess we better bounce.”

“I, I can’t just leave it,” Mac turned back around, forcing himself to ignore the blue numbers flashing amongst the mess of wires tucked away in a crudely converted filing cabinet and look out the window, at the downtown city streets below them. It was early, hours before the office building they were in and the ones surrounding it were filled, but he couldn’t rule out the chances of security guards and employees clocking in early. The bomb in front of them would take out the entire building, at least.

“Bud, if you can’t stop it there ain’t anything else we can do,” Jack reasoned. He knew how hard Mac took any form of failure, even when it was out of his control. “But we don’t have to go out with it. Let’s get out of here, okay? Those numbers are tickin’ down real fast.”

“Help me contain it,” Mac decided, springing into action, glad to have something to do even if he knew he wasn’t going to feel like it was enough. The filing cabinet doors slammed shut with a clang and he headed towards the heavy wooden desk along the back wall. “We’re on the top floor and we know it’s cleared. Maybe we can stop it from blowing any of the floors beneath us so nobody will get hurt.”

“If we don’t get out of here, we’re gonna be the ones hurting,” Jack grumbled, but as he was talking he was sweeping the picture frames and papers off the top of the desk and helping Mac tilt it on its side, lugging it across the room to prop against the window. He went as fast as he could, helping Mac drag the sturdiest pieces of furniture from other offices on the floor to reinforce the exterior walls and, once that was as good as it was going to get, closing the door to what he was now referring to as the bomb room, and blocking it off as well as he could. He had taken a moment though, to sync his own watch with the countdown and once it hit three minutes left, he reprioritized. “C’mon kid. We’re done.”

Mac pulled away from the grip on his shoulder, turning frantically and taking note of all the things he still could do to minimize damage. But Jack had been willing to compromise, to stay and put his own life at risk at Mac’s request. He didn’t mind that he was in danger, but he wasn’t going to ask the same of Jack so he agreed. “Stairwell, not elevator.”

“Duh,” Jack rolled his eyes, snagging a grip on Mac’s shirt sleeve and pushing him down the hallway ahead of him. “Get outta here.” And they ran.

Their boots went from thwacking against the stone floor of the entryway of the building to the dull thud of concrete sidewalks but they didn’t stop, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the explosion as they could. They hadn’t made it across the empty road to the safety of the other side of the street before the bomb blew. A roaring whoosh of heat that rattled the earth beneath them, so loud that Mac stopped hearing it after the initial blast. He just hoped he had done enough and kept running.

A block away, safely out of the blast zone, sat the rental car they had driven in. The lights were flashing, which confused Mac for a moment before he realized that the sharp ringing in his ears wasn’t only from being too close to the explosion, but was partially the fault of the car’s security alarm picking up the vibrations through the ground. Jack came to a stop beside him, pulling the key fob out of his pocket and the lights and alarm stopped.

“You okay?” Jack asked, voice loud to be able to be heard over the tinnitus droning on and messing with his hearing, as he attempted to shake the worst of the dust and ash from his hair.

“I think so,” Mac answered, his own voice too loud, though he wasn’t actually sure how true the statement was.

Turning towards Jack revealed a set of problems Mac himself hadn’t noticed yet. He must have been in just the wrong place at just the wrong time, perfectly positioned in the trajectory path of a window as it exploded, because his entire right side, what Jack could easily see of it anyway, was scattered with shards of glass and speckled with blood. “Aw, kid,” Jack winced in sympathy, silently cursing the universe for not putting him in the line of fire instead and then, after deciding that it wasn’t the universe’s fault, blaming himself. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, letting Mac go first. The first one out the door would obviously be the one furthest away from the building when it blew. There was no way Jack could have known he was setting his partner up to fall in the line of shrapnel, but he wasn’t going to forgive himself for it anytime soon. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“About what?” Mac asked, forehead drawing into a frown that pulled on a shard of glass stuck in his eyebrow. The adrenaline must have been wearing off, because he felt it, raising a curious hand to explore the sharp bite of pain. The slivers of glass that had made it through the sleeve of his flannel, white and grey checks flecked with blood, caught his attention and halted his movements before Jack had a chance to reach out and stop them himself. “Oh. About that.”

“Yeah, about that,” Jack agreed, stepping forward, crowding into Mac’s personal space and laying a hand on the uninjured side of his neck. “You seriously didn’t feel any of this?”

“No,” Mac shook his head, the motion sending a stab of pain down the base of his neck and drawing out a sharp hiss. Jack’s eyes narrowed as he pulled the collar of Mac’s shirt away to reveal a fairly substantial chunk of glass sticking out of the flesh above Mac’s collarbone.

“Okay, stop moving,” Jack instructed, worried eyes frantically scanning for any more pieces that could turn out to cause something more than superficial cuts. “We gotta get you some help, I… this is more than I feel comfortable takin’ care of on my own, Mac. Some of those look deep.”

“If I’m not allowed to move,” Mac asked, falling back on sarcasm as his best defense to deal with the pain that, now that it had been drawn to his attention, was growing worse with every breath. “How am I supposed to get in the car?” 

"You really don't wanna play that game with me right now," Jack warned. "Cause if we'd done things my way, to begin with, we would have been back in the car before the bomb ever blew. 

"And who knows how many people would have been killed in the process." 

"I know this is hard for you to hear kid, I do, but at the end of the day? If I have to make that call? I'm always going to choose the route that ends with you alive." A glance at the blood coursing trails down Mac's right side as he went around to open the passenger’s side door for Mac, made him add, Preferably alive and unharmed." 

"It isn't ideal," Mac agreed, stubbornness being pushed aside, overpowered by pain, as he allowed Jack to help lower himself into the awaiting seat. Luckily, most of the shards had hit high, from his chest up, so sitting, and not having to try and keep from swaying from the pain, was a relief. "But I'm not going to apologize for doing my job and diminishing casualties when that's the only option." 

"I know you're not," Jack ran a hand through Mac's hair, shaking loose slivers of glass in the process before unwinding the seat belt and reaching across to fasten it, tucking the chest strap behind Mac to keep it from pressing against any shards. "And I'm not askin' you to. But that's what I'm here for. To pick up the pieces when those calls leave you hurt." 

"I'm okay," Mac tried to reassure. "I don't think it's as bad as you're acting like it is." 

With a glare, Jack reached back in the car and flipped the sun visor down, snapping open the mirror and letting Mac see his reflection. From the splash of blood against his collarbone, which appeared to be the worst of them, to the tiny little nicks and scrapes that speckled his face. 

"Oh." 

"Yeah. Oh," Jack agreed, shutting Mac's door and jogging around the front of the car to climb into place behind the wheel. "You believe me now? That this one warrants a quick ER stop?" 

"Unless we just head home?" Mac offered hopefully. "We're only a couple hours from home." 

"Not happening. Couple'a tourists out for a walk early this morning, next thing we know the building we just went past started exploding. You got caught in the fallout." Jack put the car in drive while pulling his phone from his pocket, already dialing Matty's number. "I'll have it cleared but we don't even have to keep up a crazy cover this time. Get you patched up before we get gone." 

"Okay," Mac agreed with a sigh as he settled back into his seat. He knew there was no point in arguing once Jack had made up his mind, especially when it came to something regarding his health or safety. "But other than the one, I don't think it's as bad as you're acting like it is." 

Annoyed, with a bleeding partner and still running off an adrenaline high of his own, Jack reached out, leaning across the car while keeping one hand on the wheel and flicked a tiny piece of glass embedded in the back of Mac's hand free. 

"Ouch," Mac hissed as he turned to Jack. "What was that for?" 

"That hurt?" Jack asked, straightening back up in his seat. 

"A little," Mac admitted begrudgingly, having figured out where the conversation was heading. 

"Then we're lettin' the pros handle this one," Jack said, leaving no room for arguments on the subject. "I'm down for you wanting to run around and save the world, kid. It's your job and you're damn good at it. But you gotta take care of you when things don't go as planned and you wind up hurt."

"I know, I know," Mac sighed. 

"No," Jack shook his head. "You don't know. But that's why I'm here. To remind you."


	5. Where Do You Think You're Going?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can there ever really be too many tags to 2x04? I hope not, cause here's one more... 

It was a testament to just how out of it Mac was that he didn't notice Jack approaching through the crowd that had amassed on the street. He hadn't known what to expect after storming out of the War Room as soon as Riley's security cameras had locked in on a confirmed sighting of Mac stumbling his way across a busy road downtown and he was regretting not sticking around long enough to find out just how bad of shape Murdoc had left his kid in. He had tried his best to prepare himself for the worst on the drive over so it was a rush of relief when he saw Mac still on his own two feet, even if he was swaying slightly, trying to push his way past the throng of concerned or nosy onlookers. 

Jack was close enough to see Mac's eyes blown wide in a way they only got when drugs were involved and a splash of blood seeping from beneath a rolled-up sleeve and Mac still hadn't noticed him. "Mac?" He pushed past the final barrier of people between him and his partner. "Hey, kiddo. Where you goin'?"

"Jack," Mac answered without turning his head to see who he was talking to. "Need to find Jack." 

"Think you found me, hoss." 

The familiar nickname, such a rare occurrence anywhere other than Jack's warm drawl, was enough to spin Mac around in recognition. It was only the quick reflexes of a stranger that kept him upright as the world rushed around him and tried its best to knock him back down to the sidewalk. "Jack?" 

"Yeah, I'm right here," Jack assured, stepping forward, hands raised. "It's me, Mac." 

Jack counted a grand total of three times Mac's feet nearly tripped over themselves in his haste to make it to the safety of his partner's arms before finally crashing into Jack's chest with abandon. 

"Easy there, slick," Jack soothed, one arm wrapping around Mac's shoulders instinctively and the other reaching up to pass over sweaty blonde hair. "Slow it down for me, I gotcha now. You're safe." 

"Murdoc," Mac mumbled into Jack's chest, unwilling to move away from the familiar comfort he had finally found. "It was Murdoc." 

"I know. We've been lookin' for you all morning. No trace of him yet, but now that you're safe and sound we can shift over to worryin' about trackin' down that little sleazeball and bringing him in once and for all." 

"H-he was chasing me," At that memory Mac looked up, wide eyes scanning the crowd of people, searching for the, unfortunately, all-to-familiar face. "I got away but..."

"He ain't going to lay a hand on you," Jack vowed. "Not now, not with me here. You did good, kid. Real good. Busting free and going some place crowded so the systems we set up could find you? Smart move, not that I should have expected anything less from you."

"Didn't want to," Mac admitted, worried eyes turning self-conscious as he realized that he still had an audience and hiding himself back into Jack's shirt. "Too many people. Too bright. But I didn't know where to go and I needed to find you and-"

"Hey, hey, hey," Jack interrupted what quickly was turning into panic, shooting warning glares at the closest bystanders. "Dial it on back. You're safe now, 'member?"

"He drugged me." 

"Yeah, I figured that much out on my own," Jack's hand began a steady pattern of passes up and down Mac's back, ignoring the slight tremor he could feel there. "You know what with?" 

Mac shook his head. He could probably narrow down the options once his head stopped pounding and his heart stopped racing. He was finally making progress on that front, beginning to relax and believe that he was truly safe when the first trills of approaching sirens pierced the quiet hush Jack's presence had threatened the street into and Mac flinched. "What are the odds they're coming for someone other than me?" He asked quietly as he tried to fold himself even further into Jack's protective hold. 

"I'd say it's a pretty sure bet, buddy," Jack sighed. "You came up out of that hole back there in the road like some kind of drugged out of his mind ninja turtle, all stumbling and trying to get yourself ran over, you can't blame a concerned citizen or two for putting in a call to the authorities." 

"Don't let them take me?" 

The fact that Mac had phrased the request as a question, as if he wasn't sure that Jack was still willing to protect him after their argument in Paris, was a punch to the gut that Jack hadn't been prepared for. "Of course not," He promised, dropping a quick kiss to the top of Mac's head and silently daring any of the onlookers to call him out on the move. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? Staying right here with you, I just need to get my phone," He dropped one hand, ignoring the way Mac's grip on his shirt tightened at the lack of contact, and wedged it between them, trying to free his phone from his shirt pocket without making Mac move. "Gonna see if Matty can call off the local first responders and send our guys instead." 

"Or we could just go home," Mac suggested, leaning back just enough to look up at Jack.

Phone pressed against his ear, Jack couldn't even pretend to be mad at the suggestion. A Mac trying to charm his way out of receiving medical attention was a Mac on the mend and he was relieved to see it, though he wouldn't admit that to Mac. He wasn't relieved enough to give in, despite Mac's attempt at convincing him, quickly relaying their situation to Matty who agreed the best course of action would be to divert public assistance in favor of the familiarity of Phoenix Med. 

"She said I had to go in, didn't she?" Mac asked, ducking his head back into Jack's chest. 

"Yeah, we gotta go get you checked over," Jack agreed. "Run a tox screen and all that fun stuff. She wanted to send our med team out in one of the unmarked buses, to meet us a couple blocks away, but I told her I'd drive you myself. If that's okay with you?"

Mac nodded, relieved and grateful for the proposition of getting away from all the curious, judgmental eyes he could still feel watching him. 

"So we can't go home just yet, but we can get out of here." 

"That... yeah, that sounds great," Mac agreed, taking in one last moment of the hug before pulling away. Jack stayed close, hands on his shoulders, steadying him as he swayed. "Thanks. For coming to get me." 

"Don't mention it," Jack shook his head, tucking Mac beneath one arm as they made their way through the hurriedly-parting crowd towards Jack's car. "I'm just sorry it took me as long as it did." 

"I'm sorry too," Mac began as Jack's apology triggered a string of memories of events that had inadvertently landed him in his current predicament. "Not about that, but about before. Paris and my dad and-"

"Water under the bridge," Jack cut him off. "That's long in the past and I'm not worried about it anymore. As far as I'm concerned? It never happened. If you still think you owe me an apology once you're back up to one hundred percent, I'll take one, if that's what you need to move past it. But not until then and as long as you know that I'm not expectin' one." 

Mac felt himself relax even more at that, knowing that he hadn't gone and screwed up one of the best things, maybe the best thing, in his life. "Thanks, Jack." 

They weren't going home, not yet. But with his partner's arm around his shoulders and the foggy haze slowly lifting from his mind, the way the midday sun gleamed off the paint of Jack's car, home felt pretty darn close.


	6. Please...

"And you're sure we can't just stash this away somewhere inside the building?" Jack asked, not for the first time since Mac had begun piecing together bits and pieces of electronics from their surveillance van to create a hurried, but hopefully functional, short-distance sound recorder. 

"Remember Matty saying these guys were paranoid? They always scan the room before they start their meeting," Mac said, frowning down at the device in his hand before looking up at the highrise outside the van's windows. "They're going to check for bugs like this as soon as they walk in. But they have no control over outside forces. Too many people walking down the sidewalk with phones in their hands for them to worry about unauthorized devices." 

"And Ri said we had to get it within a few feet of their boardroom to get a clear reading," Jack sighed. It wasn't that he didn't understand the reasons for the plan, he just hated what it was going to require. "What are the chances you're gonna let me be the one to go up there and get things set in place?" 

"I'd consider it if it was ready to go," Mac admitted. He wasn't looking forward to the next part of his plan any more than Jack was. "But I can't put it together completely until I'm up there." 

"I ain't as stupid as I look. Show me what you need done and I'll do it." 

"No," Mac shook his head, determined. "No, I got this." 

"That's pretty high up, bud," Jack leaned forward, arms crossed across the top of the steering wheel to peer all the way to the top of the building. "You sure about this? You and heights don't really mix all that well. Climbin' all the way up there isn't gonna be fun for you."

There was a backpack at Mac's feet, filled with an assortment of ropes and carabiners and grappling hooks and it rattled when Mac gave it a nudge with his boot. "That's why I’m not going up." 

In hindsight, climbing down the building from the gravel and tar paper-covered roof, wasn't much more pleasant. 

It was quicker, though, which Mac tried to keep reminding himself every time he felt the panic of being so far off the ground bubble to the front of his mind. He wasn't going to be stuck there as long as he would have been had he climbed all the way up to the forty-seventh floor instead of rappelling downward. The task would have been a lot easier had the wind not been blowing in a storm. Every few minutes, as soon as he would get the latches in place, a gust would come and send him swinging precariously and undo all his work before he had a chance to get things secured. It took everything he had to keep from dropping the device. It was secured to a rope that was hooked to his belt, so it wouldn't have gone far if he had, but it would have cost him a few moments to reel it back up and begin again and every second he wasted was another second he was going to be stuck dangling from the side of the building, like something straight out of one of his nightmares, and he wasn't trying to extend it any longer than he had to. 

"You good up there, hoss?" Jack's voice called from the floor below him and Mac managed a weak smile. He could just picture his partner hanging his head out the window, neck craned to look directly above him in a move that would leave him sore and complaining for the next few days. Jack hadn't been too thrilled with Mac's plan from the beginning, but once Mac had told him that he was going to climb down the building while Jack was riding up in the elevator, waiting to pull Mac inside which would, hopefully, draw less attention than Mac repelling all the way down, he had liked the plan even less. 

"I'm good," Mac confirmed, refocusing on the task at hand. "Be better if this wind would let up." 

"Or if you were back on the ground," Jack offered. "That'd probably help too." 

"You are not wrong," Mac agreed. "But I can do this." 

"I know you can. I'm gonna hush up now and let you do your thing, but I'm here if you need me, okay?" 

"I'm good," Mac repeated, wondering how many times he would need to say the words before he started to believe them. Hopefully, he wouldn't be there long enough to find out. 

The device snapped into place, finally, and he let out a breath of relief. Done.

"That it?" Jack's voice called from below. "If you're done, get down here."

Mac couldn't help but smile as he loosened his ropes a notch, beginning to drop down to the floor below where Jack was waiting with the windows open. "Thought you were going to be quiet so I can concentrate?"

"Yeah, when you were workin'. You're done now."

"Not quite," Mac sighed. He still had to get down. 

His footing was less than ideal, slippery against the windowpane as he began the descent, so he didn't have enough traction to brace himself as another gust of wind tore past and slammed him sideways against the stone wall. He was vaguely aware of Jack's voice yelling from somewhere below, but the screaming pain in his ribs from where they had collided with the building and the rush of panic in his mind as he felt as though he was falling didn't leave much room left in his mind to let him even think about answering. Not that he could have, with the breath driven from his lungs, leaving him gasping for air. 

The world slowly started coming back online and Mac began to notice more than just the rush of pain and fear as he tried his best to convince himself that he was safe. It took an embarrassingly long time though, for him to realize that Jack's presence had suddenly gone missing. It wasn't until the window next to the one he was clinging to swung open, that Mac realized where he had gone.

"Hey bud, let's get you down from there," He reached a steady hand out and grabbed hold of Mac's ropes, slowly inching him towards the safety of inside.

Mac managed a hoarse "Please..." but didn't have the air to say anything more as he inched his way across the window. 

Jack did most of the work of pulling him inside once he was close enough to the opening, Mac holding on to the ropes with one hand and the other braced against his injured side. At most, it took a few moments to get him back inside but it felt like an eternity before his boots were shakily planted on the solid floor. 

"W-we aren't supposed to be in here," He gasped, looking around the empty board room they had been instructed not to enter. 

"Don't care," Jack shrugged, dropping a reassuring hand on Mac's shoulder as he began unclasping the makeshift harness, freeing Mac from the last traces of his plan and securely closing the window behind them. "You come first. That was a pretty hard hit, those ribs okay?" 

Mac winced. "Think I might have broken one or two," He was still too rattled to consider trying to deny or downplay anything. "Not much we can do about it right now, though." 

"Yeah, I'll take a look 'fore we head home," Jack agreed. "Listen, I hate to make you jump right back in, kiddo, but we really aren't supposed to be here. Think you can start heading back down to the van?" 

"Closer to the ground?" Mac shot him a wry smile. "Absolutely. Sounds great." 

"Okay. I'll get rid of any traces of us bein' here and be right there." 

Mac knew he should offer to help, but just the thought of returning to the roof, even if it was only to gather their supplies and cover their tracks, made his stomach lurch. "You don't mind?" 

"Not at all," Jack promised. "Besides, as unsteady as you look right now? I'll probably be done in time to catch up with you before you even make it out of the building. Don't worry 'bout me, you sure you're alright to make it down on your own?"

"You got my back?" 

"Always," Jack replied automatically. "Lemme get everything gathered up and I'll be right behind you." 

Mac grinned, risking one final glance over his shoulder to the window behind them. "Then I'm good."


	7. I've Got You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a couple of prompts throughout this month that inspired both of the day's fics to run together. Two fics that, though posted separately, form one larger fic. Today's is one of those. Technically, they both can be read on their own, but I would highly recommend reading Mac's chapter and then following it up with Jack's. 

The fire pouring from the explosion Mac had just triggered was reflecting, jumping and crackling in Jack's brown eyes, as they ran through the forest, far enough away from the terrorist compound and the generator he had just blown up to be safe but close enough that they could still keep an eye on the grounds which were heavily guarded despite being located in the middle of nowhere.

"You don't have to look so darn happy every time you set somethin' on fire, kid," Jack grumbled as they stopped behind the cover of a ginormous evergreen tree, peeling back branches to keep a lookout for threats. "It ain't that exciting. With our luck, you went and set the whole forest ablaze with that."

"Just the generator providing power to their compound," Mac assured with an eye roll. He might have been a little more fond of fire than most people found acceptable but he was nothing if not careful about it. “We had to draw them out somehow. Matty needed to know how many there were.”

“Too damn many,” Jack answered automatically, turning to peer behind them, gun drawn. His instincts were on high alert, screaming that something wasn’t right. “You know I’ll always back your play, hoss, but I don’t like this one. Too many variables out of my control.”

The words had no sooner been spoken, a harsh whisper that was actually no quieter than his normal speaking voice, than a twig snapped at his flank. There wasn’t time to give Mac a warning as Jack chose instead to take care of the threat, hoping his two quickly-fired rounds would eliminate the problem before it actually became one.

It didn’t.

The man fell to the forest ground with a thud, leaves crunching beneath his weight, leaving the knife that had been in his hand behind, hilt reflecting moonlight from its new home embedded in Mac’s abdomen.

“No, no no no,” Jack rushed forward, barely registering the split second that he took to slip his gun back into the holster on his thigh before he caught Mac, both hands securely locked around the tops of his arms as he swayed, staring down at the knife. Hesitantly, he reached out to touch it. "No, leave that there. You can't take it out. Mac. Hey, Mac? Look at me. Eyes on me, bud, right up here,” He ordered, sliding a hand up to rest on the side of Mac’s neck. "I know it hurts but we gotta leave it." 

When Mac’s eyes drifted up to meet his, already beginning to glaze over, the last traces of hope Jack had been holding on to drifted away as he realized it truly was as bad as he had feared. 

"Hurts." 

Jack's heart broke a little more. “I know it does, but it’s alright. I got you,” He murmured, amazed that he was able to keep his voice anywhere close to steady. “We’re gonna be just fine.”

“This is bad,” Mac whispered, face going even paler as he glanced back down at the knife. He seemed to be a little more aware after the initial shock wore off, but Jack wasn't sure that the panic wasn't worse than the distanced daze. “Jack, this is bad.”

“You’re not supposed to be lookin’ at it,” Jack admonished gently. “Remember? Eyes on me. I’m gonna get you layin’ down here, alright?” He carefully helped lower Mac to his knees, and then down flat on the ground, knowing it was only a matter of time before he ended up there and it would be better to have help with the descent. “Let me get a look,”

“ ‘s bad,” Mac said again, eyes drifting closed.

“Hey, nope, you’re stayin’ awake for me, right? Keepin’ those eyes open?”

“Trying,” Mac blinked himself back awake. “Need…”

“I know, I know,” Jack soothed, voice gentle despite the panic he was feeling as he pulled Mac’s shirt open and watched the blood pour up from around the knife. “Think this one’s a little above my paygrade, dude. But don’t you worry, I’ll get us some help. Get you all fixed up.”

“Out of here,” Mac panted. “Need…”

“That’s the plan,” Jack assured. “I’ll get you out of here. Don’t you worry.”

“Don’t think-” Mac pulled in a shaky breath, the pain of the movement causing his eyes to flutter closed again. “Don’t think I can walk.”

“No, I know, bud. I ain’t gonna ask you to. I’ll carry you. I just need you to stay awake for me. Think you can do that?”

“I’ll try,” Mac whispered, wincing as he drew in another breath without making any attempt at opening his eyes.

Jack forced a smile, trying to keep some sense of normalcy even with the tears he could feel burning at the corners of his eyes. “It’ll be a whole lot easier to do if you have those eyes open,” He prompted gently, tamping down the panic he was feeling at not seeing Mac’s bright blue eyes open and aware. "There he is," He breathed a sigh of relief, letting his own eyes drop closed for a moment as Mac looked back at him. When he opened them again determination had replaced the fear shining there. "I'm getting you out of here." He promised. "I'll be as careful as I can, but-"

"It's gonna hurt," Mac finished for him. " 's okay. Trust you." 

"You stay awake, you hear me?" Jack instructed as he shifted, trying to find the best way to pick Mac up without causing him too much pain or moving the knife, eventually deciding that quicker would be better, even if it hurt. "Here we go," He warned, barely even registering the twinge in his back as he lifted Mac off the ground in one motion, too busy focusing on reminding his arms and legs to keep going as his heart shattered while Mac screamed. 

"Mac, Mac, buddy I know it hurts, I know and I'm so sorry," He made himself keep talking, offering something familiar for Mac to focus on aside from the pain. 

"J-Jack, I..."

Jack knew what was coming next, could tell by the apology hidden among the tears in Mac's voice, but still tried his best to prevent it. "No, no, Mac I need you, you hear me? You don't get to check out yet. C'mon, buddy, stay awake for me. Just a little longer, okay? Please? Don't you dare leave me, Mac." 

In a final feat of strength, Mac pried his eyes open again, peering up at Jack with a sad smile. "Sorry, big guy," he whispered, voice cracking as his eyes rolled from blue to white and he went limp in Jack's arms.


	8. Where Did Everybody Go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cool thing about writing all these fics? I don't remember all of them. When I went to read through this one before posting it, I had absolutely no memory of writing it. At all. So I guess in a way, this is a new update for me too!

Mac couldn't tell the difference between the nightmares and reality.

He was floating, in and out of awareness for the majority of the day after Jack finally made it to Phoenix Med with his favorite genius wrapped in his arms, screaming that they needed help. Their latest op, which had involved far too much champagne and schmoozing and too many bowties for either of their liking, had ended suddenly when their covers had been blown and the storeroom Mac was hiding out in- hushed whispers across comms trying to come up with a plan that would let them escape unnoticed- filled with a cloud of fumes pumped in through the air vent in the ceiling. He had barely had time to alert Jack to what was happening between hacking coughs before he fell unresponsive.

Whatever he had been dosed with wasn't in Phoenix's vast database of toxins, meaning they didn't know exactly what to expect. Despite the initial coughing jag, it's main purpose seemed to be knocking the target flat on their ass. There were rare moments of clarity, blue eyes alert and focused, aware of what was going on around him only to haze back over for a terrifying moment of not recognizing their surroundings that, no matter how many times Jack sat by his partner's side and watched the recognition fade, never became anything less than completely gut-wrenching. It was almost a relief when Mac fell back into unconsciousness, until, that was, the nightmares kicked in, The kid was stuck flitting from hellish dream to the next and nothing Jack or any of the medical team tried would wake him. The only thing that seemed to bring him out of his own mind was when the terrors became so severe, so raw and real that his body couldn't handle it.

The only part worse of the whole mess, Jack had decided, than watching Mac be forced to go from awake to the confines of his worst nightmares completely against his will over and over again, was the moment when he was finally pulled out of them. The mumbled protests and whimpers finally ceased, and Jack had never thought in a million years that he would be thankful for those sounds but they at least meant his kid was breathing. When they stopped though, so did Mac's lungs. And every time they froze, even though it was only for a few seconds, so did Jack's heart.

He supposed he should be grateful for it. That it allowed Mac, no matter how terrifying the ordeal was, to be snapped out of his nightmares and get a few precious moments of lucidity in before he was pulled back under. And he was, the first few times it happened. It eventually began wearing down Jack's defenses though, and Mac was no longer the only one left with tear-tracks on his cheeks, barely having time to dry before they began anew, and all he could do was clutch Mac's too-still hand and be there for those rare moments when he came back to him.

It was exhausting and draining, emotionally and physically, and Jack had a difficult time remembering the last time a medical visit had been as upsetting as the one they were currently in the middle of. He was working out a ranking system in his mind, which had the added benefit of being both a way to pass the time and a way to make himself suffer for letting Mac get hurt, reliving every harrowing moment of the weeks-long stay that happened after Lake Como when the stuttering twitches of Mac's hand beneath his own suddenly stilled. Jack pushed his personal form of punishment to the back of his mind, the memories were there forever, after all, he didn't stand a chance of forgetting them, so they could wait as all his attention shifted to Mac's current predicament. He waited for tear-filled blue eyes to look up at him, begging him to fix it and asking why he let it happen in the first place, even though Mac himself would never dare speak voice to those thoughts.

Jack refused to let himself breathe until Mac did. It was an unspoken rule that he wasn't about to break simply because he had the chance to break it. Mac didn't get that luxury, so he didn't either, simple as that. It felt like ages passed before Mac sucked in a gasp of air and his hands broke free of Jack's gentle grasp, coming up, combative, though his only target was the oxygen mask secured around his face. It had been a trigger of plenty of the nightmares, a bit of irony that wasn't lost on Jack, as the thing that was helping pull him out of the nightmares more often than not ended up sending him right back into them again. He didn't have the heart to fight Mac on leaving it alone. It fell to the crinkly pillowcase beside him and Jack didn't bother arguing. Mac would be out again in mere moments, he could fasten it back where it belonged then. No point in making him suffer any more than he already had.

"You're alright, hoss," Jack promised, though he wasn't sure if he believed the words himself. He barely recognized the harsh rattle that was his own voice. "I'm here."

"But..." Mac swiped the worst of the tears away from his eyes with a trembling hand. "Where did everybody go?"

"You were dreamin', bud."

"No. No everybody else was here."

"Nah, just you and me on this one."

"No, not the op," Mac frowned, frustrated at the disconnect between his too-fast mind and his too-slow words. "Well, not the one we were on. With the drugs in the vent."

As much as Jack hated realizing that all the signs were beginning to point to Mac being left remembering the highlights of what had happened in high-def, it was a relief to know that he was coherent enough to know what had happened. There were talks, hushed discussions between familiar doctors and specialists Jack didn't yet trust about what tests would need to be run once the toxin had run its course, what condition Mac's mind would be left in since whatever he had inhaled seemed to target his cognitive center. It was a relief Jack wasn't sure he deserved to feel, but he was thankful for it just the same.

"Not the party," Mac continued, focusing on explaining himself. He seemed to realize that he didn't have much time left aware enough to ask the questions he needed to. "The bomb."

"There wasn't any bomb, brother," Jack smiled sadly and reached out to brush Mac's hair back into place after the hastily discarded oxygen mask had left it a mess. "Just a bad dream. Everyone's safe."

"No," Mac shook his head, determined. It had felt so real. Too real not to have happened. "No, there was a bomb. And we were back in the sandbox but everyone was there. The whole family. Bozer, Riles, Matty, Desi. They were there and there was a bomb. And I'm EOD. It was up to me and... and now I'm here."

"You're here because there was never a there to visit," Jack squeezed Mac's hand, desperately trying to convince him to believe what he was saying. "I promise you, kiddo, the only one here in the hospital is you."

Which was not the best choice of words. Jack realized his mistake as soon as it slipped off his tongue and he added another reason to the already mile-long list of ways he failed his kid in only a few short hours.

A fresh wave of tears welled up in Mac's eyes as he processed Jack's words before the older man had a chance to correct himself. "I was too late. It was my job to keep them safe. And I couldn't. And now they're not here." A hiccuping sob bubbled up from Mac's chest and Jack found himself wishing for the drug to grab hold of Mac and pull him unconscious again, regardless of the nightmares he would be facing. Because at least then he could continue promising both of them that it wasn't real. When his fears started bleeding into his real-life though, and he had a hard time distinguishing between the two, Jack found himself unsure of what to do to fix it.

But he was going to try.

"Hey, now, look at me," He instructed, tilting Mac's chin up when he didn't react. They were too pressed for time to allow Mac to come around on his own. "Mac, I promise you, they're safe. There was no bomb. Nobody's hurt. The reason they aren't here is that they don't even know that you're hurting right now, buddy. I haven't been brave enough to make that call yet. But I promise you, you didn't do anything wrong, you didn't let anyone down. They're safe."

"But-" Mac fought for each breath around the fear.

"No buts," Jack insisted, sliding out of the uncomfortable hospital room chair and dropping the side rail of Mac's bed, allowing himself to slide in as close as he could. "Now you listen real good, okay? Cause we don't have much time and I need you to hear this before you go out on me again. C'mere," He pulled Mac out of the bed until he was sitting, even if he wasn't doing much to hold himself up, and then carefully wrapped his arms around him. The guilt that was pounding through his chest with every heartbeat eased up just a little when Mac curled in automatically, tucking his head beneath Jack's chin and latching his hands into the back of Jack's shirt. "I'm your overwatch, right?"

Mac nodded.

"And you trust me, even when I don't deserve that trust, to keep you safe?"

"Of course."

"Then I need you to trust me now, bud," Jack murmured into the top of Mac's hair. "When I'm tellin' you that you're a little mixed up and remembering things that didn't really happen."

There was a heavy pause as Mac considered what Jack was saying. "You're really sure?"

"I think part of that trust we were just talking about?" Jack prompted gently, rubbing a gentle hand up and down Mac's back. "Is you believin' me when I say I would never lie to you. And most definitely about something like that."

"It felt so real," Mac whispered, trying to pull himself impossibly closer towards the warmth of the familiar chest beneath his cheek and Jack's heart broke a little more.

"The bad ones always do," He agreed.

Mac was quiet enough after that, having apparently chosen to believe Jack that his nightmares had been just that, nothing more than another drug-assisted moment of the universe trying to take out the good guys once and for all, that Jack had started to wonder if the kid had passed out again. Just as he was considering breaking the tight hold, Mac spoke up again. "I don't want to go back to sleep."

"I'd give anything to make that happen for you, kiddo," Jack vowed. "Not until that dose of whatever it was they knocked you out with is long gone. But I don't think it's really up to us to make that choice. But hey, you got me. And I'll be right here."

"I don't think even Jack Dalton can scare away bad dreams," Mac smiled, the first glimpse Jack had of his Mac coming back to him instead of the broken, hurting, scared shell he had been left with. It almost made up for the fact that no sooner had the teasing words been spoken and a sense of normalcy had fallen over the room, Mac went limp in Jack's arms.

Jack let his own eyes fall closed for a moment, wanting to keep pretending like things were perfectly fine and his kid hadn't just got sucked into another round of terrifying nightmares. Mac's words echoed through Jack's mind on a loop. _I don't think even Jack Dalton can scare away bad dreams._

"I don't know kid," he whispered, laying Mac back down and adjusting his blankets, running a hand through Mac's hair with a smile. "But he's sure gonna try."


	9. For The Greater Good

Mac could tell as soon as he woke up that he had a migraine coming on. Rolling out of bed with a groan, he fumbled his way across his bedroom until his outreached hands landed on the fabric of his curtains. The rattle of pulling them closed sent the forming ache in his head spiking but plunging the room into darkness was worth it. He made his way back to his bed, dropping down to sit on the corner while he tried to adjust to being awake. "Guess I'm not going to check out that new trail today," He muttered, squinting at the running shoes he had laid out the night before. 

The house was quiet when he finally worked up the motivation to move out of his room, slowly making his way down the hall towards the kitchen. There was a plate of chocolate chip muffins sitting on the counter beside a note from Bozer saying that he was spending the day in the lab. As much as Mac appreciated the thought, he passed on the breakfast Bozer had made, pouring himself a glass of water instead and heading to the couch, fully prepared to spend the day doing nothing in an attempt at keeping the headache from turning into a full-blown migraine.

That was the plan. 

Unfortunately, the terrorist who had planted a bomb in a downtown square two states over had other ideas.

He hadn't realized that he had fallen asleep after dragging himself to his medicine cabinet and downing a small handful of over-the-counter pain meds, returning to bed with a wet washcloth to put over his eyes, but apparently, he had since his phone ringing from his nightstand startled him awake.

"Yeah?" He answered, not bothering to look at the screen and see who was calling.

Matty's voice against his ear was harsh and he found himself pulling the phone away, just slightly. He wasn't entirely sure what she was saying, but he got enough to know that they were being sent out on a mission she didn't trust any other team with. So he dragged himself out of bed, swallowed down another handful of pills, threw his migraine medication in his go-bag, and snagged a pair of sunglasses as he headed out the door.

It wasn't a long mission, not compared to some of the week-long ones they were sent on, but the further into it they got the worse Mac felt. By the time they reached the location of the bomb, his vision was beginning to swim and it was taking all of his focus to keep from squinting and rubbing at his eyes, trying his best to keep the impending migraine to himself, at least until the bomb was taken care of. That was the bigger problem. A headache could only hurt him, the bomb could cause devastation for countless people swarming in and out of the busy shops and restaurants nearby.

Tucked beneath the wall of masonry surrounding the square's central fountain, there was a mess of wires barely visible when Mac and the rest of the team approached, city workers in orange safety vests milling about, worried, unsure what to do.

"We don't think it's been detonated," One of them said, offering a hand for Jack to shake as Mac skipped past pleasantries, kneeling beside the bomb and trying to think past the roar of water above him pounding through his head. "We didn't know much more than to not touch it and try not to cause a panic."

He tuned out as much of the surrounding noises as he could, focusing on what he had to do and leaving the evacuation of the immediate area up to Bozer and Riley while Jack hovered nearby, waiting, just in case Mac needed him. "They knew what they were doing," Mac admitted, carefully prying away the outside casing to get a look at the inner workings of the bomb. "But as long as nobody triggers it I should be able to get everything disconnected before it causes a problem."

"Good," Jack nodded, eyes scanning the area, no doubt keeping track of all of his kids, not just Mac. "Do your thing, hoss. It's all good up here."

He wasn't sure if his attempt at not squinting too much had finally backfired, or maybe it was the slight tremor in his normally rock steady hands or the tension in the set of his shoulders as he worked, but somewhere between the bomb's reveal and it's disposal, Jack realized that Mac was hurting. Later, when he had gotten him through the worst of the migraine, he would berate himself for not noticing it sooner. He wasn't going to waste time with that though, until it was over.

He crouched down beside Mac, trusting Riley and Bozer to take care of themselves for a few moments while his attention was entirely undivided. "What in the hell were you thinking, Mac?" He asked softly, hand hovering just over the space between Mac's shoulderblades, unsure if touching him would make things worse. "Why are you even here? You're not supposed to try and hide this from us. Least not me."

There was no point in trying to keep up the act that he was okay anymore, and freeing himself from that small burden helped ease some of the tension he was harboring. "Sorry," He whispered, taking a moment to close his eyes and recenter himself, leaning a little towards Jack as he did which was all the motivation the older man needed to carefully wrap an arm around Mac's shoulders, pulling him towards himself and holding him up. "I thought I could hold it off."

"Because that's worked so well in the past," Jack grumbled, reaching his free hand up to check Mac's forehead for any traces of a fever, just in case. "I can't believe you're still trying to work on this. Hang tight, I'll make some calls. See if we can get someone else in here to finish up."

"No," Mac protested, twisting his fingers into the sleeve of Jack's shirt. "No, I'm already here. I can do it."

"Mac-"

"I can push through for a little while longer," Mac assured, pulling away from Jack's hold and returning his focus to the bomb in front of them. "Let me do this and then you can hover all you want, okay?"

"I'mma hold you to that," Jack warned, keeping his voice low and a hand, grounding, on Mac's shoulder as he worked.

It felt as though it took ages, but Mac's knife finally clattered to the ground, the last wires in his hand severed. "Done." He whispered, not bothering to turn his head towards Jack as he spoke. "It's done."

"Think you're up to moving if I help you?" Jack asked, threading his fingers through the sweat-dampened hair at the base of Mac's neck. "Riley and Bozer can handle the clean up here, it might be a little quieter back at the car."

"Quieter's good," Mac agreed, reaching out a hand when Jack rose to standing, welcoming the help. The walk back to where Jack had parked their rental wasn't a long one, but Mac's legs were unsteady and heavy by the time they made it. He happily collapsed sideways into the passenger's seat with a groan, feet braced against the ground, not quite up to turning and sitting completely in the car yet.

"I'll pump the brakes on it for now," Jack began, still trying his best to keep his voice unnaturally low. "But you are in for a nice long lecture about how stupid this was once you're feelin' better."

"If it makes you feel any better," Mac offered with a shaky attempt at a smile. "I at least brought my meds."

"And you're just now telling me this?" Jack exclaimed, passing an exacerbated hand over his face. "Damn it, Mac, you should have had those in your hours ago."

"Couldn't take them. They knock me out."

"Well, you're taking 'em now," Jack decided. Not giving Mac a chance to say no.

"In my bag."

Jack returned to his side a few moments later, case in hand. "I think we're a little too late to take the pills, huh?" He asked, unworking the zipper slowly so the noise didn't send Mac's pain skyrocketing. "Should probably skip right to the strong stuff?"

"Yeah," Mac agreed, reaching out and rolling up his sleeve. "There should be alcohol wipes in there."

"I know what I'm doin'," Jack assured, helping Mac when his fingers fumbled with the simple task. "You just let me take care of things."

The fact that Mac let him do just that, without argument, was more than enough proof of how bad he was feeling.

"This is cold," Jack warned, ripping open one of the alcohol wipes and scrubbing down a much larger section of Mac's muscle than he needed to. Despite the warning, Mac still flinched. "Sorry. And for this too," He winced in sympathy as he lined up the autoinjector. "I wish I could tell you that this won't hurt but..."

"I don't care," Mac's voice was barely loud enough to be heard as he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and burying his face in the familiar comfort of Jack's shirt as his partner steeled his nerves and put aside his own hatred of needles to depress the plunger and hold the injection in place, counting heartbeats until it was time to remove it and trying not to let himself shudder at the click of the injector closing itself.

"Okay, that's done," Jack let out a breath of relief, running a soothing hand through Mac's hair. "Just rest. You're okay. I got ya. Let that do its thing and you'll feel better."

Mac didn't intend to fall asleep, but the next thing he knew he was waking up, an unfamiliar bed soft beneath him and a cool cloth over his eyes.

"Hey, you wakin' up?" Jack's voice was low, coming from somewhere to his side as soon as Mac began moving to pull the cloth away. "Go slow. Don't rush it."

" 'm fine," Mac murmured, dropping the cloth beside him and ever so slightly cracking open his eyes, which he instantly regretted, slamming them back closed with a hiss. "Can you get the lights?" He asked around a wince, recoiling from the brightness.

"Yeah, sorry," There was a rustling sound that Mac didn't bother trying to place as Jack spurred into action. "Gimmie a second, this place don't have 'em on a dimmer. Okay, there we go. Try now."

"Yeah, that's better," Mac sighed as he tried again, squinting through the strange, suddenly navy-hued light, trying to find his partner in the unfamiliar location. "Are we at a hotel?"

Jack grinned. "What was I supposed to do, get us on the plane back home? The sudden changes in air pressure would have just made things worse. So I sent Bozer and Ri on back and holed us up here for the night."

"And how are we getting home?" Mac asked, risking prying his eyes open a little more.

"I told Matty that since she didn't even notice there was somethin' wrong when she called you, that she owed us a couple plane tickets for the next flight back to LA. Made sure she's springing for first-class too, so it shouldn't be too loud. How bad you hurtin'?"

"Still have a headache," Mac admitted. "But not as bad. Think it's just a headache now instead of a full-blown migraine. I don't even remember getting here."

"What do you remember?"

"The bomb," Mac said, having a solid memory of diffusing it. "And the car?" That memory was a bit hazy. "You. That's about it."

"Those meds really do knock you on your ass, huh?" Jack risked making Mac move by sitting down at his side.

"That's why I waited to take them," Mac rolled his head against the pillow, getting a better look at the odd light coming from the lamp between the two beds. "Why is there a..." He squinted through the pain of staring directly at the light source. "Is that your shirt?"

Sure enough, when he turned his questioning gaze back to his partner, Jack was sitting there without a shirt.

"You wanted the lights turned down. I improvised," He shrugged. "Picked that bad habit up from you, I guess. Don't complain, it helped."

"It did," Mac agreed. "Thanks."

Jack reached out a hand, hovering just over Mac's head for a moment, eyebrows raised, waiting to make sure he wasn't going to make things worse by touching him. Mac gave the tiniest of nods and Jack let his fingers begin carding through Mac's hair. He drew as much comfort from the familiar motion as Mac did. “I still ain’t happy about all this, kiddo. I'm gonna hold off until you're back on your feet before the whole lecture starts, but don't you forget that it's comin'. Cause you know better than to try and pull a stunt like this.”

“Had to,” Mac let his eyes slip closed, Jack’s hand in his hair already beginning to lull him back to sleep.

“No, no you didn’t,” Jack argued. “Somebody did, but it didn’t have to be you. Not when you’re hurtin’.”

“You would’ve,” Mac risked opening his eyes just enough to watch Jack’s reaction to the accusation, knowing it was true. “If Matty had called? You would have gone, no matter how bad you were feeling. Cause the job comes first.”

“No, now,” Jack began before deciding that Mac was probably right and he would have done the exact same thing. His hand in Mac's hair stilled as he thought. “Well, maybe. But that ain’t the point. Cause you’re supposed to know better. To learn from my bad example. Hell, Mac, you’re the smart one here. But when it comes to takin’ care of yourself you seem to forget that an awful lot.”

“That’s what you’re here for,” Mac scooted a little closer, shifting Jack’s hand on his head in a not very subtle reminder that he had stopped playing with his hair. “I’m sorry I scared you,” He finally said, knowing that Jack wasn’t going to move on until he admitted to at least some wrongdoing.

“That’s about as lame of an apology as saying that you’re sorry you got caught,” Jack pointed out with an annoyed sigh. "But I guess it’s better than nothing.”

"So you're not mad?"

"Not mad," Jack promised. "Just wish you'd put yourself first on the list of important things in this world. Or at the very least somewhere up near the top."

"Don't have to," Mac reached down and grabbed the edge of the blanket he was covered up with, pulling it up further over his shoulders, fully prepared to go back to sleep. "You do."

"Damn right, I do," Jack nodded. That wasn't ever going to change.


	10. They Look So Pretty When They Bleed

Shell casings pinged off the cement floor, raining down around Jack's feet, providing background music to the track of constant chatter he was rambling through comms. The last of the bad guys ran for safety, out of bullets, he took off out of the basement with his arms over his head, ducking and flinching away from the shots Jack was still firing. "Hoo! Man, that was fun! It's been a good while since I've got to shoot like that! I know it ain't your thing, hoss, but damn if it ain't a rush," Mac's end of the conversation stayed quiet and Jack had a brief moment of wondering if he had crossed the line from providing a helpful-albeit pointless-conversation for his partner to latch on to while he worked into becoming a distraction. "I ain't sayin' I wish there had been more of 'em, cause I don't like you being too close to the line of fire, but that was over way too soon! Oh well. There's always next time, right Mac?" 

Silence. 

"Mac, you're good, right?" Jack asked, snapping the gun in his left hand back into place on the front of his vest but keeping the one in his right drawn, just in case. "Cause I'd really appreciate you tellin' me that you're good. Startin' to worry a little bit. If another grey hair pops up from this, you're not allowed to tease me 'bout it since this one's all your fault. Not like most of the rest of 'em haven't been your fault too, though." 

Mac still didn't respond and Jack officially became concerned. 

"Okay, hoss, last chance," He warned. "You start talking or I'm coming to check on you. I know that room's empty, just you and the bomb you're takin' apart, but something's up." 

"I'm almost done," Mac finally answered, voice tense as he concentrated and slightly muffled. Jack breathed a sigh of relief as the images of the worst-case scenario drifted out of his mind, replaced by ones of Mac crouched in front of the bomb, little red knife held between his teeth while both his hand were digging through wires and components, so focused on the job at hand that he didn't notice Jack asking him to respond at first. He was okay. 

Though the tendrils of doubt tickling at the back of Jack's neck didn't go away. 

"Yeah? Just almost?" He asked, needing to keep the conversation flowing. "You loosin' your touch, kid? Cause I took care of all the baddies in here, and trust me, there were plenty of 'em. And you haven't even finished with one lousy bomb yet? You missing me teasing you about being the slowest bomb nerd out there? Cause we can go back to that if that's what you want."

"Almost..." Mac repeated, clearly not paying much attention to the familiar voice droning on in his ear. "Almost. Slippery." 

Jack's worry ticked up another notch. "Slippery? What's slippery, Mac?" 

"Wires. I can't, can't get a good grip."

"Okay now, take a breath," Jack instructed. "You got this. You need me to come help?" 

"No. No, I-" A whoosh of air crackled through Jack's earpiece, a relieved sigh, and he allowed himself to relax a bit. "Done. It's done." 

"Yeah?" Jack grinned. "Good job, pal. I'm headed your way. We'll get out of here." 

"Um, don't freak out," Mac said, and Jack could hear the wince in his voice. "But we may have a little bit of a problem. Other than the bomb." 

Jack made a mental note to ask Mac, once everything was over, when in history had telling someone not to freak done anything other than make them freak out worse. But that was a question that could wait. Instead, he growled out "Define little." 

"Small in size, amount, or degree-" Mac began reciting before Jack interrupted him. 

"Not what I meant and you know it, Merriam-Webster," He growled. "What's goin' on? Thought you said the bomb was taken care of?" 

"I did. It is," Mac assured. "I um, well," 

"You know what?" Jack sighed, slipping his gun back into his thigh holster and taking off at a run towards the small room tucked away in the corner of the basement. "Just stop. I can get to you and see what's wrong myself before you get the words out right. I'm comin'." 

There was a workbench in the middle of the floor, where the men he had taken out had been upgrading legal guns into black-market weapons, and he vaulted over it in a single jump, not wanting to waste the precious seconds it would have taken to run around it. The door Mac had made sure Jack had closed behind him when he left splintered with a kick from Jack's boot. He was so focused on getting to Mac that he didn't see the bullet hole in the wood. 

"Alright, Jack's here to save the day. Again," Jack announced striding into the room, eyes scanning for threats. "Cause taking out the twelve baddies out there wasn't enough. What's the matter..." His words trailed off as he laid eyes on his partner, standing on unsteady legs, left hand trying to staunch bleeding from a steadily-pouring wound on his right forearm. "This is your idea of a little problem?" Jack exclaimed, rushing forward to examine the damage for himself. "What the hell, Mac? Is that a gunshot?" 

"Those weapons they were converting are pretty effective," Mac joked half-heartedly, letting go of his arm and holding it out for Jack to inspect. "It was a lucky shot, I don't think they were really aiming. But it came right through the door." 

"And you didn't feel the need to mention this when you got hit?" Jack asked, digging into one of the pockets of his TAC vest for one of the spare bandannas he always kept on hand. "You're supposed to tell me these things, kid." 

"I was going to," Mac winced when Jack wrapped the bandanna tight around the wound, "I had to get the bomb disarmed first or it wouldn't have mattered." 

"You could have mentioned it. No wonder you were struggling to keep hold of those wires," Jack grumbled, pulling the bandanna tight to punctuate his words, Frustrated enough that he didn't feel too guilty for causing Mac more pain. "You hidin' anything else?"

"No," Mac shook his head, wobbling a little as the movement made him dizzy. Jack's hands came up to steady him automatically. "No, that's it. It really isn't bad. Just hurts." 

"Yeah, I bet it does," Jack agreed. "Whacha say we get out of here? Go get you patched up?" 

"We were supposed to pack up all the products before we left," Mac protested. "And take them with us. We can't risk all that getting out on the streets." 

"I'll call Matty from the road," Jack promised, wrapping an arm behind Mac's shoulders and steering him towards the doorway, splintered wood cracking beneath their feet as they walked. "Have her send someone in for clean up. We're taking care of you first. You really feel like carting all those crates out to the truck with that arm?" 

"No," Mac admitted. "No, I really don't." 

"Okay then," Jack gave the open space of the basement a cautious sweep before allowing Mac to keep walking through. He had already let the kid take one bullet, even if it was a lucky graze on the arm, and he wasn't about to let it happen twice. "Let's go home."


	11. Psych 101

"You, uh, got any ideas on how we're supposed to carry him up outta here?" Jack asked, peering up the length of the ladder ascending into bright sunlight that made him squint. "Cause I get it, no man left behind and all that. But I don't think either of us is feeling up to pulling off a one-armed fireman's carry up a ladder."

"No," Mac agreed, eyes scanning the dusty floor around him as if it held the answer. "No there's no way. Not right now, at least." 

"We could always rig up some kind of pulley system, I guess," Jack suggested halfheartedly, glancing back towards the room they had been held in. "Use the bed in there, maybe?" 

"It wouldn't fit through the entrance," Mac decided, following Jack's earlier move and squinting up at the opening. Guiltily, he realized that he was feeling a little too relieved at that revelation. "I don't want to say we leave him, but..." 

"But we're leavin' him," Jack decided, face twisting into a wince as he took the full weight of the man hanging between the two of them and settled him down onto the floor. He didn't have a problem with shouldering the guilt at being the one to make the final call. "We go up, we find some help, and if he's still alive by the time they get here then we let them help him too. If not," He shrugged, the movement pulling on sore muscles and starting an ache deep in his chest. "I ain't gonna lose any sleep over it. Not after he did all this." 

"Don't mention sleep," Mac warned, reaching out and grabbing hold of the closest ladder rung to stay standing through a wave of dizziness. "Unless you want me to pass out right here." 

"Okay," Jack decided, rubbing at the bruises throbbing on his chest before dropping his hand back down when he caught Mac watching him. "We go up. And... I guess finish makin' that plan when we see what our options are out there?" 

"Yeah," Mac agreed, not seeing a better option. "So I guess we're going up." 

"Move over," Jack stepped forward, gently shouldering Mac out of the way. "Let me go first. We don't know what's waiting for us up there." 

"Can't be any worse than what was down here," Mac muttered, wincing in commiseration as Jack began to climb and his face twisted into a pained grimace. "Be careful." 

"You know you didn't really kill me, right?" Jack grumbled as he climbed. "I think I can still manage to climb a ladder." 

He was too focused on the finish line, on that bright circle of sunlight that meant freedom, to notice Mac's flinch at the all-too-recent memory. The weight of the gun in his hand and the resistance of the trigger beneath his finger. Jack’s screams, which had sounded like the worst thing imaginable until the gunshot echoed through the bunker and they had stopped. That silence was worse. 

Jack's voice snapped him out of the flashback. "You want the good news or the not so good news?" He asked once he had reached the top, head swiveling as he took in the view. 

"Is there actually any good news?" Mac called back, hoping Jack was too far away to hear the tremor in his words. "Or are you just being optimistic?" 

"I'm too damn tired to be optimistic," Jack groaned as he climbed completely off the ladder, feet landing on the hot ground as he crouched to peer down at Mac. "It's safe, climb on up." 

"Thought you had news?" Mac prompted as he forced his arms, weak with exhaustion, to pull himself up, bare toes scrambling for purchase against each rung. 

"Oh. Right. Good news is there's a car here," Jack answered, taking his eyes off Mac for a moment to peer back over his shoulder, checking to make sure the SUV he had seen was still there and hadn't been a mirage. "Bad news is there's not much else. And by not much, I mean absolutely nothing. Zilch. Nada."

"But there's a car," Mac repeated, latching on to the positive, one of the few bits of good news they had received in what felt like a very long time. "So we can go get help." 

"One step at a time," Jack decided, reaching down and offering a hand to help pull Mac up. 

"I got it," Mac protested. The words came out a little harsher than he intended but he was sore and already out of breath from what would have been an easy climb on a normal day and he knew Jack was feeling even worse. He wasn't about to let Jack hurt himself even more because he didn't think Mac could climb up a ladder. Blinking harshly as he broke the surface, eyes still not adjusted to the daylight, Mac looked around as he joined Jack, sprawling out on the hot earth. 

"And we thought it was hot in there when you cut the air vents," Jack sighed, reading Mac's thoughts easily. "Think we got the raw end of the deal on this one." 

"I don't care," Mac panted, pulling gasping breaths in through bruised ribs, reminding himself that Jack's chest had to have been hurting more. "We're out." 

"Sure," Jack agreed. "But what now?" 

They slowly dragged themselves to the car. Finding it unlocked was a welcome revelation, Mac was pretty sure his hands were shaking too much to be able to pick it. The wave of heat that rushed out as they opened the doors was nearly strong enough to knock Mac over and he fanned his door, pushing the worst of the stifling air out the other side before climbing in and collapsing into the blessedly comfortable seats. 

"Keys?" Jack asked, following Mac's lead and dropping into the driver's seat. 

Mac shook his head, the ignition empty. There was a clang of metal though, when Jack flipped down his sun visor and the keys dropped into his lap, rattling against the steering wheel on the way down. 

"That answers that," Jack picked them up, wondering idly what the keys that obviously didn't go to the SUV on the ring opened. The car they were currently sitting in was undamaged, clearly not the one that had barreled into Mac's side of their rental, which left him assuming it was Griggs' personal car. He fumbled for a moment to put the key in the ignition, vision swimming, but finally got it and the engine started up with a gentle roar, loud in the silence of the desert around them. "AC?" He asked, eyes flitting to Mac, slumped next to him. 

"Probably only make us feel worse when we have to turn it off," Mac sighed, though he made no move to protest when Jack cranked it up to full blast. 

"Yeah, that's probably going to be sooner than we'd like, too," Jack sighed, looking at the gauges on the dash in front of him. "We're runnin' on a little less than half a tank." 

"Is that enough to get us anywhere?" Mac leaned across the center console to see for himself. "Where even are we?" 

"No clue," Jack looked around, nothing visible in any direction other than flat, barren desert. "We can't be too far from a town, not with him willing to let the tank get this low. But we don't know which direction that town is." 

"Too dry to leave tracks," Mac nodded, slowly, scanning the ground for any trace of tire tracks that could help. "And we don't have enough gasoline to risk making a guess and driving around for a while." 

"Not unless we want to get even more lost," Jack agreed. "At least there’s a landmark here, even if it is an unpleasant one. So I guess we sit here and wait for help to find us." 

"That could be days. Nobody even knows we're missing yet. It's not like our hotel is going to have notified Matty that we never checked in." 

"We gotta figure out a way to call her ourselves," Jack began checking the side pocket on the door, searching for a cell phone. "Griggs didn't have a phone on him, so it's gotta be here somewhere."

"Nothing on my side," Mac announced, his door empty and the glove compartment bare other than insurance paperwork and the automotive manual. 

"Watch your arm," Jack warned, gently nudging Mac's elbow off its rest on the center console. "Jackpot." Sure enough, there was a cell phone tucked away there, piled on top of crumpled fast food receipts and loose change. Jack picked it up, frowning when it refused to power on. "Of course the battery's dead. Perfect." 

"The heat probably drained it, being left out here in the car," Mac continued digging through the console and pulling out a charging cable. "Try this." 

"Thanks," Jack plugged it in, anxiously staring at the screen in his hand, waiting for it to save enough charge to be able to place a call. "Anything else good in there?"

"It's not much, but right now it looks about as good as one of those buffets you were so excited about hitting," Mac pulled out a single bottle of water and two granola bars. 

"Oh man, I don't even care that I hate this brand," Jack happily took one of the wrapped packages out of Mac's hand. 

"Go slow," Mac warned as his shaking hands began unwrapping his. 

"It's a protein bar, Mac," Jack dropped his head back against the seat, moaning in pleasure as he took the first bite. "And I haven't eaten in days. It's not like I'm going to overdo it. We'll make that water go as far as we can," He sent a longing look to the bottle Mac was holding in front of the closest air conditioning vent, trying to bring it down to a more palatable temperature. "But we need the energy. No point in rationing these out, hopefully we'll be out of here before we start to get too hungry again." 

Mac didn't bother mentioning that he had passed the point where he could tell he was hungry. He knew Jack was right, and he needed the boost that would come from eating the meager stash of emergency food Griggs had kept in his car, but the peanut butter flavor of the granola bar was heavy on his tongue and his jaw ached with every bite he made himself chew. 

"Get you a drink and then pass it over," Jack nodded towards the bottle of water. Mac twisted the cap off, the crack of the seal breaking echoing loud in the quiet car, and he drew a face at the warmth of the water as it passed his lips. Hot as it was, he could have drained the entire bottle and at least three more without issue, but he didn't allow himself to take even a fourth, knowing it was all they had to get them through until rescue arrived. 

"That's disgusting," Jack declared once he took a drink, twisting the lid back on and dropping it into the cupholder. "But damn if it wasn't the best disgusting thing I've ever had. Wish we had about twelve more of 'em."

Mac nodded. "Hopefully whoever Matty sends to pick us up will have thought ahead and brought more. Think the phone's charged enough yet?" 

"One way to find out," Jack grabbed it, leaving it charging because he didn't want to risk it going dead in the middle of a call, and tried to turn it on again. It lit up and Jack let out a whoop of excitement. "Let's hope my brain isn’t too fried to remember her number," He squinted at the device in his hand as he dialed, turning the call to speaker and the ringing filled the air between them. 

"If she even answers..." Mac worried, staring at the screen in Jack's hand. 

"She'll answer," Jack assured, putting on a stronger front than he was feeling as the line continued ringing, unanswered. "And hey, we were on our way to Vegas, after all. If she won't bother to pick up we can always call Nick." 

Mac forced a smile. "Sure. Because your cousin isn't busy enough with his own life, he can drop everything and come rescue us out here in the middle of nowhere. And we don't even know that we're still anywhere close to Vegas" 

"He'd come if I asked," Jack winced as the ringing cut off, the call going unanswered. "And it looks like we're close to Vegas. Have a little faith, bud." 

"It looks like we're stuck in some random desert with no discernible markings whatsoever," Mac sighed. "And you're relying on faith? The same faith that you had that Matty would answer a random call to her personal phone?" 

"She didn't recognize the number," Jack redialed. "She'll pick up when we call again." 

In the end, it took four tries before Matty answered the phone with a harsh "I don't know who you are or how you got this number, but I suggest you start explaining." 

"Things went real south on us, Matty," Jack began, skipping past his usual joking. "We need some help." 

"Jack? Where are you? Where's Mac?" 

"I'm here," Mac answered, throwing his voice into the conversation as he sagged in relief against the leather seat, finally cooling off enough to be comfortable, behind him. "Think you can send someone to come pick us up?" 

"I knew sending the two of you alone to Las Vegas unsupervised was a bad idea." 

"We never even made it to The Strip, Matty," Jack sighed. "But I'm not real sure where we are, exactly. But it's not good." 

"Are you hurt? Either of you?" Matty asked, her voice becoming a quiet hum as she pulled the phone away from her face to give orders, presumably to have a tech begin tracking their location. "Do I need to send local EMS or are you safe enough to wait for our guys to reach you?" 

"We're... we're not great," Jack admitted, "But we're as safe as we can get, given the situation. Mac? It's your call, brother." 

Jack was the one who, of the two of them, was in worse shape. If he was willing to wait until Matty could send Phoenix agents out to assist them, then he could too Mac decided. "We'll be okay for a little while." 

"I'm tracking your location now," Matty assured. "And I'll get some help your way as soon I can. Is the line you're calling from secure? Will you be able to answer it later to check in?"

"Until the battery runs out." 

"And there's no way to charge it?" 

"Depends on if you're talkin' 'bout the phone battery or the battery of the car we're usin' to charge it," Jack snarked. "Either way, no, it ain't gonna last very long." 

"Whose car?" She asked and Mac swore he could hear the furrow between her eyebrows deepening with every question she asked. 

"It belongs to a not-so-dead ghost from the past," Jack answered. "Though he might be dead for real by the time y'all get here seeing as how I shot him after Mac shot me." 

Mac flinched hard at the words. 

"I'm sorry, Mac did what?" 

"It's a long story, Matty. We'll tell you all about it after we've got some sleep, alright? Just, send in the cavalry." 

"On the way," She promised. "Hang in until they get there." 

"Ten-four." 

"So?" Mac asked as Jack disconnected the call and dropped the phone into the remaining empty cupholder between them. "What now?" 

"We wait," Jack shrugged, the movement pulling painfully at the bruises on his chest. "Try and get some rest and hope there's nobody besides us crazy enough to be out here in this heat." 

"It could still be hours," Mac pointed out. "Until help gets here. We should probably shut the car off for a while. Conserve what little resources we have just in case they get held up."

"Yeah," Jack agreed, woefully looking at the air conditioning controls. "That means losin' this little bit of heaven we've got blowin' in through the vents right now, though." With a heavy sigh, he cracked all four windows, just a bit, and turned the key, sending the already quiet car into eerie silence. "I guess one of us should keep watch?" 

"I can take first shift," Mac offered automatically. "You get some rest." 

"No, I'm good," Jack waved him off. "You go to sleep. I'll wake you up if I need you." 

The part of Mac's brain that wasn't buzzing and dysfunctional from dehydration and sleep deprivation knew that Jack hadn't intended for those words to hurt. That he didn't really mean that he didn't need Mac, but that's what it felt like. As if Jack was saying that he didn't need Mac, not just in that current moment, but in his life. If he hadn’t gone out on a limb and agreed to sign on as Mac's partner when DXS came knocking, if he had just shipped home to Texas after those sixty-four days like he was supposed to, they never would have gone on that first mission in Jakarta and they never would have been in their current predicament because of it. Maybe Jack was starting to realize what everyone else in Mac's life realized sooner or later: that he wasn't worth the hassle of sticking around for. 

"Seriously, kid," Jack could tell Mac's brain was spinning into overdrive, so he shifted a little, leaning to the side and slamming the center console closed so he could prop his arm up on it. "Go on to sleep." 

"Okay," Mac agreed, drawing his knees up into the seat and curling towards his own window, not seeing Jack's invitation to use his shoulder as a pillow for what it was, wrongfully assuming he was trying to put as much of a barrier between them as possible. He didn't have the emotional stability to think about Jack shutting himself out of his life, not when he was already exhausted and hurting, so he finally gave in to the pull of sleep, hoping whatever world he visited while he was out wouldn't be as painful as the one he was in while he was awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head over to Jack's set for the continuation of this!


	12. I Think I've Broken Something

“How ‘bout we go back in time and let me be the one who walks away with a broken arm, huh? Instead of you?” Jack offered. “I’m sure it would hurt me a lot less than standing here watchin’ you hurting does.”

“I doubt it,” Mac grinned. “Besides, you’ve watched enough time travel movies to know how bad of an idea that is. You step on a bug and the next thing we know, chocolate milk is outlawed. And Bozer would never forgive us for that one.”

“You’re probably right.” Jack sighed as he looked over at the bruised and mangled mess of Mac’s broken left arm. “But, see, you say that now, but when they go to resetting it? I bet you’ll be wishin’ you would’ve taken me up on that offer, bud. It ain’t gonna be fun.

“I’ll be fine,” Mac assured, following Jack’s gaze and swallowing down a wince as he caught sight of just how bad his arm looked. It already ached, a deep, aching throb that pulsed with every heartbeat. And that was as long as he stayed still. Moving it, once the familiar team of Phoenix Med faces began shifting the bones back into alignment, really was going to hurt. He pushed the thought away before he had to give it a label and admit that he was nervous.

Of course, it was a realization Jack noticed. “Hey, champ, eyes on me. You don’t need to be watchin’ as it happens. That’ll only make it worse.”

“I know,” Mac nodded, rolling his head on the exam bed he was reclined on and locking his eyes onto Jack’s.

“And hey, at least it’s your left this time,” Jack offered, searching for a positive in the situation, something to erase the haunted look of pain and dread off of his partner’s face since his joking about movies hadn’t been enough to do the job. “Sure, it’s gonna hurt for a little while, but the cast won’t be as annoying as it was last time. Remember? When it was on your right? And you were constantly forgetting it was there, bumping it against stuff, knocking things over when you’d go to reach for somethin’?”

“That sucked,” Mac agreed. “But I’m pretty sure this will too.”

“You’ll be alright, I gotcha,” Jack smiled encouragingly, reaching out and picking up Mac's hand closest to him on his uninjured side and wrapping his fingers around Mac's own, his grip steady and reassuring.

"It's a broken arm, Jack," Mac grinned back, a little lopsided twist of his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes but the attempt at normalcy was reassuring. "I said it was going to suck, not that I needed you to hold my hand to get through it."

"Aw, c'mon now. It ain't like this is the first time. Probably not even the fiftieth, if we're bein' honest here. Remember that waterfall in Panama? I do recall you holdin' on pretty tight then."

"It was Peru," Mac corrected automatically, just as Jack had hoped he would. "And that was less for comfort and more out of practicality. Mainly, making sure we weren't separated when going over the cliff became our only exit route."

"Sure, sure," Jack agreed easily, watching the medical team out of the corner of his eye. "And your fear of heights had nothing, and I mean nothing, nothing at all, to do with it."

"You here to help or to tease me?"

Jack laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Can't it be both?"

He didn't get a chance to answer, to continue their banter, pretending as if nothing was wrong, before a voice coming from the medical team Mac was trying to forget about interrupted them. "Okay, Mac. We're ready if you are."

"Um," He hesitated, as much as he hated to admit it, eyes darting nervously between his broken arm and Jack's gentle smile. "Y-yeah, let's, let's get it over with."

"Eyes on me," Jack reminded, adjusting his grip on Mac's hand, tightening his hold and reminding Mac that it was there in one move, unnoticeable to anyone but them. "And if my handsome self is too much for you, just count ceiling tiles or somethin'. It'll only take a minute, and it'll be over."

"I'll be fine," Mac insisted, stubbornly finding a point on the wall behind Jack, just over his shoulder, and focusing on it instead of meeting his partner's eyes. "It's no big..." His words trailed off with a sharp hiss as he felt his arm be lifted off the bed and his eyes slammed shut. "Deal." The last word gritted out between clenched teeth.

"You're okay," Jack leaned closer, his free hand coming to cup Mac's cheek, thumb gently sweeping at Mac's temple, soothing and effectively blocking Mac's view from the team working on his arm at the same time. "Hang on, I gotcha."

And Mac finally gave in, squeezing Jack's hand and doing just that.


	13. Breathe In, Breathe Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one, out of all the other chapters I had stashed away before the month began, that was the most difficult to hold on to and not post as soon as it was finished. Because it was long enough to be a stand-alone fic and it's one of my favorites. But the prompt was too perfect not to use it for, so here we are. Enjoy!

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Jack frowned.

"I've been home for days, Jack," Mac protested, bracing his hand on the arm of the sofa and pushing himself up to standing. It was slow, every move calculated and cautious, but he managed it on his own, which was progress considering the bout of pneumonia he had been battling for the past couple of weeks. "There's only so clean you can get from a sink and you helping me wash my hair. I'm feeling better, think I can manage taking a shower on my own."

"I'm all for the shower part, not so much the on your own," Jack stood up himself, following close behind as Mac made his way down the hall towards his bedroom. "I don't see what the big deal is, lettin' me help you. Not like it's the first time."

"And I appreciate that help if I actually need it," Mac offered a smile over his shoulder. "I need to do this, on my own, Jack. I'm ready to let things start getting back to normal."

Jack let out a frustrated sigh. He didn't like the idea, not in the slightest, but Mac was putting up a good argument. And he’d had a follow-up appointment the day before where they had specifically said that as long as he felt up to accomplishing day-to-day tasks, he should do whatever he could to get back into a normal routine. "Okay. If you're determined to do this, I guess I'll back your play."

"Thank you," Mac pushed open the door to his bathroom, spinning around, confused, as Jack followed. "Um, on my own, remember? Pretty sure I specifically said that this didn't need to be a group activity."

"I agreed to not helping you in the actual shower," Jack argued. "Not that I wasn't staying real close if you need me. Go on. Do you're thing. Won't even know I'm here."

"Yes, I will. You're not staying in here while I shower," Mac protested. "That's so weird. I'm fine, Jack. Go."

Jack wavered. Mac really was doing better, taking steps towards a full recovery every day, but he wasn't back at the top of his game just yet and Jack didn't want to risk an accident leading to a setback. And he'd been dealing with some vivid flashbacks, losing time as his mind wandered back to the incident that had lead to his illness. But he also knew that the quickest way to make Mac dig his heels in deeper and put up even more of a fight was to argue with him about something he was determined to make happen his way. "Door stays open," He offered as a compromise.

"Closed, but unlocked," Mac countered. "So you can get in without breaking it down if I need you. But I won't, because I'm fine."

"Left open, just a crack," Jack continued, raising a hand, asking Mac to hear him out before putting up even more of a fight. "That way if you need me, you won't have to yell for me to hear you. That's the last thing you need to be puttin' those lungs through while you're still recovering. And you are still recovering, much as you'd like to forget it."

It was too good of an argument for even Mac to talk his way out of, so he reluctantly agreed. "Okay, yeah, deal. But you don't get to come barging in to check on me every two minutes. You stay out here unless I need you."

Jack didn't like it, not at all, but he had learned through the years of taking care of a sick or hurt MacGyver, that it was best to pick your battles, and this was one that he was willing to stand down on. "I can agree to that," He nodded, backing out of the bathroom until he bumped into Mac's bed and sat down. "As long as you actually let me know if you need a hand."

"I will," Mac promised, closing the door between them but not latching it, leaving a tiny space as Jack had asked. He pulled the t-shirt he was wearing over his head, tossing it towards the hamper in the corner and he sighed as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. Pale, with dark smudges smeared beneath his eyes only accentuating the sickly pallor. If he looked this bad weeks into his recovery, it was no wonder Jack was being even more overprotective than usual. He must have looked absolutely terrible while still in the hospital, fighting through the worst of it. A hesitant glance to the door, and the partner he knew was waiting on pins and needles just outside, left him wondering if he had been too stubborn. Maybe he should have agreed to let Jack help. But he had been helping. For weeks now. At Mac's side continually, sleeping in uncomfortable hospital recliners and on Mac's couch once he had been released, jumping up at every movement and cough. There with a steady hand between his shoulders as harsh coughs wracked his chest, bringing meals and drinks that Mac didn't really feel up to eating, but he picked at regardless. And he had repaid that by pushing him away and insisting he didn't need him.

"He can't do every little thing for you, Mac," He whispered to his reflection. "You don't need his help to take a shower."

He nodded, determined, and turned to start the shower behind him, letting a strong stream of warm water begin pounding the tiles of the stall as he removed the rest of his clothes and added them to the hamper. Which, he noticed, was empty aside from what he had just added, meaning that Jack must have found time to add doing laundry to the list of things he had done to help Mac that he shouldn't have had to do.

Brushing that realization aside, he stepped under the spray of water, turning to let the warmth pound away at the muscles of his back, trying to ease some of the soreness that felt as if it was never going to go away. It was constantly there, every time he moved, his body pushed to the limit from endless coughing and strain, and no matter what he did it hurt. Snagging a bottle of shampoo from the shelf as he turned, he leaned forward and twisted the knob, turning the water temperature even warmer, determined to drive some of the aches out of his muscles. By the time he was through washing his hair, there were spots dancing in his vision that he attempted to blink away, telling himself it was simply water, even though he knew better. Reaching for the bar of soap pulled the wrong way and triggered another jag of coughing that left him thankful for the tiled wall beside him, because if it hadn’t been there to lean against he most certainly would have ended up on the floor.

"Mac?" Three quick raps on the door sounded out over the rush of water. "You okay?"

"I'm good," He stood himself back up, unsure if he was trying to convince Jack or himself of the lie. "Just a cough, I'm fine." He could practically see Jack, hovering uncertain at the door frame, debating breaking their agreement over what his instincts were screaming at him was a problem. "Almost done," He called again, turning to muffle the round of coughing that speaking triggered into his shoulder. "I'm fine."

Struggling to pull in a solid breath, he quickly finished, steadying himself with one arm braced against the wall again as he fumbled with the knobs to turn the water off. He hadn't noticed just how warm the glass enclosed stall had gotten until he slid the door open and a rush of steam escaped into the significantly cooler room. The sudden change in temperature triggered a spasm deep in his lungs and he barely had time to wrap a towel around his waist as he stumbled across the room, floor slippery with condensation, as he crashed into the sink, bracing both shaking hands on the counter to hold himself up as his chest heaved.

His mind was doing its best to convince him that he wasn't safe and sound in his own home though, but rather in a moldy basement all the way on the other side of the globe, waiting for his team to follow the hastily-left clues he had tried to leave behind for them to find their way to where his captors were keeping him. Instead of the smooth counter beneath his hands, it was the rim of the rough tub filled with ice water his face was repeatedly dunked in, the rusty metal flaking off beneath his scrambling hands as he tried to push himself up, desperate for air. The steam billowing around him was harsh waves, stinging his skin as he struggled. Drawing in a breath though, that was different. Back there it was cold, harsh, biting cold and now it was warm, sticky and thick, but painful just the same. It was enough to pull him out of the memory though, as he realized that maybe he wasn't as okay as he had hoped.

"Jack?" His voice was even weaker than he had expected, rattling and trying to get stuck in his throat. For the briefest of moments, he thought that it hadn't been enough, that Jack hadn't heard, but the door swung open only a heartbeat later. Mac had worried he would be angry but there was nothing but sympathy in the familiar brown of his eyes.

"Not quite as okay as you thought you were, huh?" He asked gently, echoing Mac's exact thoughts as he reached out a hand, rubbing lightly up and down the damp skin of Mac's quivering back.

"Steam," Mac explained, trying to blink away the last traces of the flashback that had been toying with his mind. "Not a good idea. Too much."

"Yeah," Jack agreed, watching the last trails of the offending moisture waft away through the door he had left open. "Sorry, bud, I didn't even think to warn you about that. That's on me."

"Not- not your fault,"

"Let's get you sittin' down, alright?" A careful hand on his elbow let Jack slowly lead Mac to sit on the closed lid of the toilet. "You're not lookin' too steady on your feet at the moment."

"I'll be okay," Mac leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, trying to pull in a steady breath that wasn't deep enough to trigger another round of coughing. "It was just... a lot."

"Comin' out of that heat and then into the cold probably didn't help anything," Jack agreed, grabbing another towel from the neatly folded rack and kneeling beside Mac. "Still thinkin' this was a good idea?"

"Felt nice for a while," Mac looked up with a weak grin.

"Yeah, and you're too stubborn for your own good," Jack shook his head fondly. "Lemme get you dried off and into some clothes and we'll get you layin' down for a little while. Sleep it off."

"I can do it," Mac reached a shaky hand out for the towel. "Just needed to rest for a minute."

"Ah," Jack pulled it out of his reach with a warning glare. "Nope, you're letting me help now. You had your turn of doing things on your own and look where that got us."

Too tired to fight about it, Mac conceded, letting Jack carefully dry the water from him, working methodically up and down each arm and across his chest, long sweeping passes across his back, and he had to remind himself not to melt too much into the touch. He must not have done as good a job at pretending like he wasn't moments from falling asleep, because suddenly Jack's hand was on his shoulder instead of the towel, and Mac pried open eyes he didn't remember closing.

"You still with me?"

"Yeah," a nod of his head sent water droplets flying from his still dripping hair.

"You were pretty close to fallin' asleep on me there," Jack smiled., sliding his hand up to rest against the side of Mac's neck. "You gonna be alright on your own for just a second or two? I'll go grab you some clothes."

"You don't have to-" Mac tried to protest again but Jack cut him off.

"That wasn't the question. The question was are you gonna be able to stay sitting upright for a little while or are you gonna go tumbling into the floor the second I step away?"

"I'm okay," Mac assured, pulling back from the hand he hadn't meant to be leaning into to prove his point.

"I'll be right back," Jack assured, standing up and crossing the room, worried eyes turning back to look over his shoulder every few steps, checking to make sure Mac was still safe. "Don't move."

Mac barely felt as if he had left the room at all before Jack was returning, a pile of clothes in hand, and grabbing a dry towel, tossing it over Mac's head with a playful grin. "Couldn't even be bothered to dry that mop of hair while I was gone?"

"You told me not to move," Mac reminded as Jack began ruffling the towel through his hair, soaking up the worst of the water.

"True, true," Jack kneeled back down, dropping to be eye level with Mac before turning serious once again, all traces of his earlier teasing gone. "Okay, need you to be honest with me, kiddo. You sure you're okay? Cause I don't wanna mess around with this if it's somethin' serious. We can go in, get checked out real quick, if you think there's a problem other than just you overdoin' it. No big deal and I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"No, I really am okay," Mac assured, actually meaning it. The dizziness had faded and while it still hurt to take a deep breath, it was no worse than it had been earlier that morning or the night before. "I think the temperature change was just a lot. I'm good. Promise."

"Yeah?" There was nothing Jack wanted more than to believe him. The thought of dragging Mac back into Phoenix Med, after finally getting him out after endless days of watching him suffer to pull in each rattling breath, was devastating but he would do it without question if Mac truly needed to be seen. "You're sure?"

"I said I'd tell you if I needed you, and I did. Our deal still stands, I'd tell you if this was something we can't handle here."

"Okay," Jack sighed, relieved. "But if that changes, you still gotta tell me, okay? I don't care what time it is or whatever other excuses you can cook up to keep quiet, you tell me." He waited until Mac nodded in agreement before continuing. "Alright, let's get you dressed."

"I can-" Mac offered again, cheeks turning red as Jack began pulling a pair of boxer briefs up his legs.

"Nope, you're stayin' right there and letting me do all the work," Jack argued, pulling them up as far as they would go with Mac sitting down before starting the process over with a pair of pajama bottoms. "Don't go makin' a big deal about it. It's only weird if you make it weird."

"Thought you said you were bringing me clothes," Mac frowned down at the comfy pants Jack had chosen.

"Pajamas totally count as clothes, dude," Jack argued with an easy grin. "Don't know what kinda world you've been livin' in to make you think they don't."

"And what would you have done if I had said I needed to go to Medical? Haul me in wearing my pajamas?"

"Yup, absolutely," Jack confirmed, pulling the well-worn fabric up around Mac's legs. "That was the plan. Or just the towel, if it was a real emergency. You think you can stand up for me?"

Mac nodded, bracing his hands on Jack's shoulders and locking his knees, pretending he couldn't feel them trembling as he stood up. Careful fingers hooked around both waistbands and pulled them up in one single move before tugging away the towel still hanging off Mac's hips. "See? Nothin' to it. Dignity still intact and everything, not that it's nothin' I haven't seen before."

"I still could have done it myself."

"But you've got me, so you didn't have to," Jack smiled up at him. "You wanna sit back down for a minute? Catch your breath again before we change locations?"

Mac shook his head. "I'm good. Think I might take you up on that idea to lay down for a little while though. That took more out of me than I thought it would."

"I bet it did," Jack agreed, falling into step beside Mac, following him to the bedroom with a hand on his back, ready to catch him if he stumbled. "Bed or couch?"

"Um," Mac hesitated, eyeing the bed that looked like Jack had made while he was waiting on Mac in the shower, pillows fluffed and sheets turned back as if he had been expecting him to need to crawl in it when he was through with what should have been a simple, uneventful task. He didn't usually like taking naps in his bed, preferring the couch with the background noise of the kitchen and deck both so close. It was easier to rest without falling into a deep sleep, one that usually triggered nightmares, especially lately, on the couch, and it didn't make him feel quite as weak, sleeping there instead of needing to go back to bed in the middle of the day, but his bed was looking awfully inviting at the moment. And, as much as he hated to admit that it was a deciding factor, it was closer. "Maybe bed?" He decided, hoping Jack wouldn't think too much about the answer.

"Crawl in there then," Jack instructed, heading towards the windows, tugging blackout curtains closed with a rattle, turning around to find Mac already sitting on the edge of the bed. "You want a shirt? I didn't grab one earlier, wasn't sure if..." Mac had been a little wary of anything too constricting against his neck and chest in the early days after his rescue, fighting against even the loosest-tied hospital gowns. It had gotten better as he healed, and the past few days at home it hadn't come up, but Jack wasn't sure if what he was guessing had turned into a full-blown flashback would have brought those apprehensions back to the surface.

It must have, because Mac was shaking his head in protest before the question was even finished.

"You sure?" He pressed again. "I don't want you getting cold. I can dig out one of my old ones, be a little bigger around the neck. Or a henley, leave it unbuttoned?"

"I'll just cover up," Mac met his eyes across the dimly lit room and Jack could see that he was begging for him not to make a big deal about the decision. So he didn't.

"Okay," He crossed the room as he laid down, just in time to pull the covers up across Mac's shoulders before he could reach down to do it himself. Resting a hand on his bare chest for a moment, searching for any traces of a rattle in his lungs that could signal a setback. "You need anything else?"

"Nope, just gonna rest for a little while," He rolled over, onto his side, trying to get comfortable but the movement pulled wrong and left him coughing again, knuckles going white as they twisted into bedsheets as he rode out the grating hacks, Jack's hands running up and down his back again, desperate to help but unable to do more than offer a comforting hand to counterbalance the pain.

"Easy," Jack soothed, unsure if Mac could even hear him, but it didn't keep him from trying, offering up gentle words of encouragement to help him through. "Don't fight it, just get it out. There's plenty fresh air waiting for you on the other side. It's okay, I gotcha."

Eventually, Mac managed to pull in a single wheezing breath, then another, and the coughing abated.

"You alright?" It was a pointless question, he was far from alright and they both knew it, but Jack felt obligated to ask, just as Mac felt obligated to answer with a nod, even as he was wiping away tears onto his pillow that gave a very different answer. Jack leaned over, rifling through the items cluttering Mac's nightstand until his fingers wrapped around a small grey cube of plastic. "Let me see a hand?"

Mac obliged, pulling a trembling hand free from the blankets and reaching it behind him to let Jack fasten the portable pulse oximeter around a finger. "A little low, bud," He sighed once the machine beeped. "Like, bordering on being too low to take care of here, low."

"I'm not going in," Mac burrowed deeper into his bed, hoping that Jack would feel guiltier about dragging him out if he was comfy.

"Okay," He hedged, knowing his next offer was going to be met with an even stronger rebuttal. "Well, you know, this little thing isn't the only piece of equipment they sent us home with,"

"Not happening."

Jack's eyes locked on the two cylinders standing in the corner of Mac's room. Oxygen tanks, ready to use, tubing and masks already set up. They hadn't been moved from that spot in the corner since Jack put them there when they were finally released to go home. Not for lack of trying on his part though. Mac always vehemently refused any time Jack brought them up. "Won't have to be for long," Jack tried again. "Just a little while. Get your numbers back up, let you breathe a little easier. You've put those lungs through the wringer today, hoss. Think they've earned a little break."

"Not. Happening."

"You know, they send that home with us for a reason. Said to use it if you need to."

"And I don't."

"Well, now, I don't know about you, but nearly passin' out from a shower and a walk to the next room constitutions a need to situation." 

"Constitutes," Mac correctly automatically. "Not constitutions. It constitutes a need to situation."

"Then we agree," Jack twisted his face into an easy grin, hoping it came across more natural than it felt. He wasn't in any mood to joke about things yet, but he couldn't let Mac know how worried he was. "You just now said it yourself that this constitutes usin' it." 

Mac didn’t bother wasting precious air on an answer.

"Hey," Jack couldn't stand continuing the conversation with Mac turned away from him, so he switched sides, dropping to his knees at the other side of the bed and reaching a hand out, brushing damp strands of hair out of Mac's eyes. "I know how you feel about those masks, Mac. You know I do. I've been there for my share of the nightmares 'bout 'em, right?" He waited, making Mac look over and meet his gaze, waited for an answering, if reluctant, nod. "And you know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, wouldn't put you through something like that, if there wasn't a damn good reason for it?" Another nod. "Well, I think this is one of those times, kiddo. I wouldn't be pushing for it if it didn't really need to happen, but you're scarin' me today. I don't want this to screw with all the progress you've made. Not if we can avoid it."

"Do I have to?" There was so much fear behind the trusting, wide blue eyes that looked back at him that Jack almost gave in. Almost.

"I'd really feel better if you did, for a little while," Jack admitted. "It's looking like we're getting real close to havin' to go in. I know you don't want that. And if we do, you know that's the first thing they're gonna hook you up to when we get there. If doin' that here will prevent that, don't you think that'd be the better option? You won't even have to move, stay there all nice and comfy. And you can be in charge of it the whole time. It gets to be too much, you can take it off for a minute or two."

"Just get it over with," Mac sighed, shuttering his eyes closed as he rolled onto his back, pulling away from Jack's hand in an attempt to keep the tears from spilling over.

As much as he hated to, Jack stood up, ignoring the ache that had settled into his knees from the constant ups and downs of the day, and rolled one of the canisters over beside Mac's bed, checking and double-checking all the valves and connectors. He knew it would help, and Mac would feel better once it was over, but the act itself was going to be arduous enough, the last thing he needed was something going wrong because he didn't do his job and make sure the equipment was safe before he asked Mac to push aside his extremely valid fears. "You're not gonna hate me after this, right?" He asked, trying for a joke to ease the tension that was weighing heavy on the room. "This isn't gonna be unforgivable?"

Mac shook his head no, but the flinch that wracked his body as Jack switched the tank on and the low hum sounded throughout the space made Jack wonder. He sometimes forgot just how strong his kid was, but Mac pushed through the ache in his chest and the anxiety swimming through his mind and reached out a shaky hand for the mask. Jack's heart swelled with pride at the same time as it shattered.

He sat down beside Mac, futilely hoping the mattress would dip more than it did with his weight and send Mac rolling a little closer to him. "Okay, it's right here," He carefully set the piece of cold plastic in Mac's waiting hand. "But you gotta remember that this is totally up to you. If it gets to be too much, you can stop it. And I'm right here. Nothin' bad's allowed to happen to you when Jack's here, right?"

Mac nodded, despite all the times over the course of their partnership that statement had been proven false, and took a breath, squeezing his eyes tightly closed as he lifted the mask to his face. 

"There you go," Jack inched closer, running a hand through Mac's hair, needing to offer what little comfort he could. "See? That ain't so bad, right? We're safe. Just let it do it's thing for a while, get you feelin' better, and then we can pack it up."

Despite his gentle encouragements, each breath Mac drew in with the mask pressed against his face sent flashbacks racing through his mind of another mask being forced on him, poison leaking into his hurting lungs, and it began to have the opposite effect, making it harder for him to breathe instead of easier. And the feeling of being unable to breathe sent him right back to the basement and the drownings that happened in it. It was a vicious cycle that only got worse with each rattled breath. "Can't," He panted after a few more gulps of bottled air became too much and he let the mask fall from his hand. "Can't. Jack, please,"

"Okay, I'm here," Jack soothed, leaning even closer. "I'm right here. It's okay, that was a good start. You did good, buddy. Just rest for a minute and we'll try again."

"No. I can't," Mac shook his head, exhausted tears finally spilling free. "Please, I can't. It's making it worse, Jack."

"One more try, okay?" Jack compromised. "One more try and if it's still too much after a few minutes we'll turn it off." Jack slid into place, back against the headboard, and patted his own chest. "C'mere. Let me help. Lean on me, try and match your breathin' to mine. See if that helps."

Hesitantly, Mac agreed, biting his lip as he watched Jack shift out of the corner of his eye, keeping track of the offending mask, making sure it wasn't too close. He pushed himself up to sitting on weak arms and adjusted himself until he was leaning against the solid wall of warmth that was Jack's chest.

"It can't hurt you," Jack promised. "Not unless you go fightin' it. That's where the pain kicks in. And you don't like fightin' anyway. Always thinkin' your way out of those situations. This is no different. Just close your eyes, let it help you. You got this, buddy. You're safe. I wouldn't be letting this happen if you weren't."

Trusting Jack's word to be true, Mac picked up the mask again and held it in place, letting his head fall back to rest on Jack's shoulder, soaking up as much comfort from the touch as he could.

"Shh, that's it," Jack encouraged, one hand coming up to card through Mac's hair while the other matched his own breathing, slowly moving up and down Mac's bare chest as he tried to keep time with his own lungs. "See? You're doin' so good." One eye on the alarm clock on the nightstand let Jack know when they had officially made it past the time Mac had lasted for the first round. "I'm impressed, kiddo. And proud, so proud. Now we're gonna keep goin', keep letting it help, but if it gets to be too much, you stop, okay? Before it gets as bad as it did before."

The numbers on the clock beside them slowly ticked away the minutes, nearly ten of them in total, before Mac let the mask drop from his face, hand trembling on the bed next to Jack's thigh. "Was that- is," He took a breath, shallow, testing, before allowing a deeper one to follow. A string of coughs didn't follow. "Can I be done?"

"Emotional trauma aside, how you feelin’?" Jack questioned. There was nothing he wanted more than to throw the mask, and the nightmares, both asleep and awake, that came with it right out the window. But his kid needed it, so as much as it pained him, he would always fight for whatever kept Mac safe. "Any better?"

"Yeah, yeah I think so," Mac answered, a little surprised himself to find the honesty behind the words. "Things aren't as fuzzy and I don't feel like my lungs are trying to crawl their way up my throat with every breath."

"Well, that's always a good thing," Jack smiled, slowing the hand that was still keeping rhythm on Mac's chest, using it to pull him just a little tighter into a hug. "Talkin' better too."

"Can I sleep now?" Mac leaned into the hug for a brief moment before sliding down until he was laying on his pillow instead of Jack. "And not have to do that again?"

"I can't promise the last one," Jack offered a sympathetic smile as he reached over to flip the switch on the oxygen tank off and wound up the tubing, tucking it and the offending mask out of Mac's line of sight. "But hopefully we're done with it for a good while. Sleep though? That's a plan I can get behind. " He flipped the switch on the lamp beside him, sending the room into comfortable darkness as he laid down next to Mac.

"I don't even get to sleep by myself now?" Mac asked, making no actual move to protest Jack's company. If anything, he scooted closer.

"Nope," Jack replied easily. "We saw what happened when you tried to take a shower by yourself. Not a good idea. Looks like you're stuck with me for a while. Clearly, there's a greater force out there who's determined to make us stay together.

Mac drifted off to sleep, curled against Jack's side, thankful for just that.


	14. Is Something Burning?

"Man, I hate this part," Jack grumbled, slowly unwinding the bandages around Mac's calf.

"Pretty sure that's my line," Mac pointed out with a smile, adjusting his hands, pillowed behind his head. "You're not the one hurting."

"No, I'm the one hurting you," Jack protested, unwrapping the last of the dressing and sighing at the burn splashed across Mac's leg. "So it's way worse."

"If it helps, tell yourself that you're not hurting me, you're providing necessary medicine to prevent infection," Mac suggested, latching his gaze on the beams of the ceiling above him as Jack began carefully spreading the prescribed burn cream across the wound, trying not to tense up too much, not only because it would make the pain worse, but because that was the quickest way to alert Jack to the fact that he was hurting and it really wasn't his fault. No matter how careful he was, how gentle he tried to keep those calloused fingers, it still hurt. Burns, Mac had decided, were officially his least favorite of all injuries. He'd take a bullet wound or broken bone over a burn any day.

"It's still hurting you," Jack sighed, continuing, as much as he hated it. He hit a particularly painful spot and Mac didn't get a tight enough grip on his emotions before a hiss could escape. "Sorry! Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry," Jack's forehead crinkled in concern and regret. “Do you want me to stop? We can stop. I don’t wanna-”

“It’s fine,” Mac reassured, letting out a slow, measured breath, and nodding for Jack to keep going. “Has to be done. Twice a day.”

“Yeah, by someone who actually knows what they’re doing,” Jack muttered under his breath, going back to the task with even more careful hands. “Startin’ to think I agreed to help you with a jailbreak a little too early on this one. Maybe another day or two of lettin’ the pros handle this would have been better for everyone involved.”

“You don’t have to,” Mac bit his lip, choosing the next words carefully. “I can do it if you don’t want to. You shouldn’t have to do this, I know how much it bothers you. Let me sit up and I can finish-"

"No, now that's not what I meant and you know it," Jack's free hand landed on Mac's chest, protesting any movement. "I might hate this, but you need it to happen to keep you safe, so I'm doin' it. No question about it. Ain't gonna make you do this to yourself, are you crazy?"

"I've been called worse," Mac grinned, relaxing, falling back into the safety of the familiar banter, which, he was belatedly realizing, probably had been Jack's plan all along. "You can keep going."

"You sure?" Worried eyes met his, waiting for permission. The trust they were met with was tinged with pain, but certain nonetheless.

"Yeah, go for it. I'm okay."

"I didn't mean that I wasn't glad for you to be makin' it out of the hospital already," Jack continued, squeezing another dollop of cream out of the tube from the pharmacy bag sitting next to him on the coffee table. "You know I don't like havin' you stuck in there. Just pointing out that if you had hung out there a little while longer, you could have had something a little stronger on deck to help deal with the pain of doin' this these first few times."

"First couple days always suck," Mac agreed, letting his eyes fall closed so Jack couldn't look over and see the pain shining in them as he continued. "But I'll take this over being trapped there any day. At least when I'm home I can rest."

"Don't look like you're doing much restin' at the moment, buddy,"

"I haven't moved from the couch since we got home..." Mac pried one eye open and lifted a hand just enough to check his watch. "Almost four hours ago. Pretty sure that's all I've been doing."

"Well, you must not be restin' hard enough then," Jack argued with a wry grin, slathering a final layer of cream over the blisters at the edges of the burn. "Cause rest is supposed to make you heal faster and your leg still looks pretty gross, dude."

"It takes a little longer than two days for a burn like this to even begin to repair itself. And nobody said you had to do this," Mac reminded again, sighing in relief and melting back into the pillows behind him as Jack fanned his freshly-doctored leg, sending a current of air to soothe the stinging he had caused, a more sanitary and grown-up version of blowing on a scraped knee, and giving them both a well-deserved break from the pain before Jack began the process of rewrapping and the hurt started again.

"I did. I said I had to. You're my responsibility, kid. You need me to watch your back, I'm there. You need a hand, mine'll be the steadiest one every time. You're hurt, it's up to me to fix it. Always. Don't matter how I'm feelin', you come first."

Mac let his eyes fall closed again, this time to hide the evidence of overwhelming emotions rather than pain, trusting Jack to take care of him.


	15. Into The Unknown

Mac didn’t open his eyes, staying perfectly still, taking in his surroundings. He knew he was in the infirmary, remembered everything leading up to him being sent there, but he's tired and hurting and he's afraid that if he lets them know he's awake he will be expected to go back to work, to finish out the day's classes, and he isn't ready for that. Not yet. A good agent would, the snide voice in his head, the one who always voiced his disappointments in Mac whenever he needed a human moment and was less than perfect and sounds an awful lot like he remembers his father sounding, reminds him. Another voice promptly cuts in and tells the first to shut up. That if the US government doesn't classify Mac as an agent until he has successfully completed this course, he doesn't have to act like one till then either. Not even after that, if he doesn't want to. That voice, Mac thought, sounded like Jack.

"We have to call his emergency contact," An actual voice, not one living inside Mac's overworked and exhausted brain, speaks and catches his attention. "They have to know."

"The kid's fine, we don't have to call anyone." The next voice he had no trouble placing. It's his training officer McCall, who had decided on the very first day of spy school that he wasn't a fan of the prospective agent and had made it his personal mission to knock him down a few pegs. It hadn't worked. Mac had been flying through all his classes without issue and occasionally, only when it was really necessary, correcting a few instructors when their math didn't add up or they quoted a fact wrong. They shouldn't assign required reading, he had argued when McCall had pulled him aside to scold him for disrespecting and embarrassing his superiors, if they didn't expect their students to learn and remember what they read. It wasn't his fault that he could do that better than they could. Looking back, Mac realized, that was probably not the best idea.

"Unless you want a lawsuit on our hands, yes, we do. You have his file?"

"Yeah, yeah," Mac strained to hear, focusing on the muttered conversation and the rustling of paper. "I've got it. Emergency contact... Oh, shit."

"What's wrong now?"

"Um, why did nobody tell me who this kid was?" For the first time since Mac had met him, there was panic in his voice. He fought back a smile to keep up his charade of still being asleep. Apparently, Jack hadn't been teasing when he said that his reputation proceeded him.

"He's not a legacy, this is the first MacGyver we've had enrolled here," Mac could hear the frown in the second voice. The one he didn’t have a name for but could only assume it was one of McCall’s superiors. "I filed the paperwork myself."

"Well, he might not be blood, but this says his emergency contact is Dalton. There's no way, right? That the blonde know-it-all can't be Dalton's kid? It's not possible."

"Dalton as in Jack Dalton? Oh hell no, I'm not getting in the middle of this one. That's all on you. Your mess, you clean it up. Call him."

Which is how Mac found himself sitting in McCall’s office, his head propped up on his hand, squinting against the lights that were making his headache worse. He wasn't sure if it was the to-be-expected side effect from the drug, or from the number of hits he had taken, but his head was pounding. He couldn't help the grin that spread across his lips though, as he heard the sound of familiar bootsteps storming down the hallway. Three quick knocks echoed through the room but Jack didn't wait for permission to enter, pushing the door open hard enough that it bounced against the wall with a clang and Jack was standing there, silhouetted in the doorway. 

Mac's very own avenging angel in aviators and a red t-shirt.

His eyes landed on Mac first, as they were always trained to do when he walked into a room, and he pulled off his glasses, hooking them onto the v of his shirt as he winced in sympathy when he saw the bruises. "You," He pried his eyes away for a moment to hiss at McCall. "You, I'll deal with in a minute."

"I'll be fine, Jack," Mac sighed. As relieved as he was to see him, the last thing he wanted was Jack making a scene. 

"We're gonna let me be the judge of that, okay? Lemme get a look at ya," Jack dropped to one knee beside Mac's chair and a hand carefully reached up and cupped the side of his face, thumb brushing at the bruises there, eyes scanning and tracking the trail from the first bruise down to the split lip. "Naw, I don't think it's too bad, you'll be alright. Hurt's though, don't it?" Mac nodded miserably, leaning into Jack's hand, just slightly. He couldn't let himself appear completely helpless. Jack had to fight against every instinct screaming at him to pick his kid up and get him out of the building before anyone else had a chance to lay a hand on him. "Yeah, I bet it does." 

"As you can see, Agent MacGyver is fine. It's simply standard protocol to alert an agent's emergency contact when medical intervention is required during..." The voice of Mac's training officer came from behind them and Jack gave Mac's knee a squeeze before standing up, spinning around and stalking towards the man with fury, not stopping until he was trapped between Jack and his desk. "How? How do you let this happen? Do you see that kid? My kid?" Without him knowing it, Jack's finger came up, poking at the pressed dress shirt hard enough to cause the crisp material to wrinkle. His other hand, his right one, the dominant hand, was clenched in a fist at his side because if he moved it, raised it just the slightest, he knew he would start throwing punches. "He's hurt because you couldn't do your job. We're supposed to send new agents here to learn to protect themselves, is that what you call this?"

He would have kept going, vision slowly going red as his haze of anger grew, if a quiet voice hadn't called his name. A familiar voice, one that he had sworn to protect, to keep safe and to prevent from sounding as scared as he did speaking that single syllable. He was back at Mac's side before he could blink, determined not to fail him twice in one day. "Hey, buddy, it's okay, I'm right here."

"You're mad. I told them not to call you, that you'd get upset. I really am fine, it's no big deal..." Mac rambled, the words tumbling out faster than his brain could process them, guilt from making Jack angry, even when it wasn't his own fault, was more pressing than his own needs.

"No, buddy, no. I'm not mad," Jack assured quickly, and the hand that was a shaking fist only seconds before was raising up to brush a strand of hair out of Mac's eyes. "Not at you, at least, okay? Never you. This wasn't your fault." His anger showed back up, just for a moment, as he turned away from Mac long enough to shoot a glare, full of warning, over his shoulder. Reminding McCall that he wasn't through with their conversation, not by a long shot, he just had more pressing things to focus on at the moment. The fury was gone by the time his eyes landed back on Mac, nothing but gentle concern in its place. "Alright, we want to get out of here? Call it quits? I can make that happen, hoss. Just say the word. If they don't wanna play by the rules then we don't have to either. As far as everyone in this room is concerned, you passed with flying colors, huh? I'm sure we can let the person responsible for this take care of all the paperwork. Let's get you home."

"No. No, I can't," Mac paused, biting his lip. Spy school hadn't been easy, but he knew it wouldn't be when he began. It wasn't designed to be easy, that was the entire point of it. Every day was a challenge, meant to test knowledge and to prepare. To push to the absolute limits of your physical and mental strength. He had been prepared for that. What he hadn't expected, was how hard it had been on him to be away from Jack. It was the longest they had gone apart since they met and that had taken some time to adjust to. The sense of relief that had washed over him when he heard the familiar footsteps in the hallway had been embarrassing enough, and while there was nothing he wanted more than to let Jack pull him down the hallway and tuck him into the passenger seat of whichever car he had driven to his rescue, leaving the campus and everything that had happened there behind him, but he couldn't. Not as close to the end as he had already made it. Leaving MIT, being granted an early discharge from the Army after DXS had caught wind of their skills, he had to see this through. He had to finish. "I want to stay."

Jack let his eyes fall closed, just for a moment, as if the idea of letting Mac out of his sight for a second more was causing him pain. But he recognized that look of stubbornness in his partner's eyes, understood better than anyone his need to prove himself, not only to himself but to everyone around him. The odds had been stacked against his kid for the entirety of his life and he was growing sick and tired of it. "You're sure?"

"I'm fine," Mac insisted again, sitting up a little straighter in his chair to prove his point. "Really. I want to stay."

"Alright," Jack agreed, as much as he hated it. "Alright, you're almost done, kiddo. Little over a week left, right? Hardly nothing. You've almost got this finished. Let me check you over and I'll get out of here, long as you promise to take it easy the rest of the day, okay?"

"I really am fine," Mac insisted with a smile, knowing better than arguing.

"Can't believe they did this to you," Jack muttered to himself as he brushed Mac's hair back again before he began running his hands slowly down Mac's arms. "Anything I can't see through this shirt that I need to know about?"

"Just some bruises," Mac hedged, knowing better than attempting to hide it.

Jack went to look for himself, pulling the hem of Mac's shirt up enough to trace careful fingers along his ribs, checking for breaks. "Oh, that better not be what it looks like it is." Jack growled and Mac winced. Apparently luck still wasn't on his side. He had been hoping that by admitting to there being some bruises Jack wouldn't feel the need to see them for himself, but when he caught sight of part of the bruise on Mac's right side he had hiked his shirt up the rest of the way, exposing the boot print.

"I'm fine, Jack," Mac kept his head down and his voice low. "Remember? It's not a big deal."

"Like hell, it's not!" Jack spun on his heel and was standing before Mac had a chance to reach out a hand and stop him, stalking towards McCall, who had thought he was off the hook and past the worst of Jack's wrath. "What, you decided to stomp on him? Where's that in the training manual, huh? I don't remember that being part of the curriculum here. Did you even give him a chance to defend himself? Course not. He can hold his own in a fight, I've been on the wrong side of it myself, and there's no way he would have let you get in that good a hit if he could have stopped it. You already had him tied down, didn't you?"

"The exercise was designed to give students experience in breaking free from restraints in different situations. Situations that, as the test progresses, grow more and more difficult."

"Yeah, yeah, I remember the damn thing, it hasn't been that long since I've been here myself. I remember the ropes and the cuffs, chairs bolted to the floor. And when you get out of those they up the ante, right? Y'all get to have some fun, taunting, throwing a hit here and there, keep 'em knocked off their game?" Jack raised an eyebrow, waiting for confirmation.

"That is the way it usually goes, yes. Today's particular test was designed to safely simulate, as close as we can get, to what a real-life captive situation would be like. Those, as you're very aware I'm sure Agent Dalton, don't always go as easily as we had hoped. We're not always left in an empty room with a paperclip hidden under our watch band." By the glare he shot Mac past Jack's shoulder, he had done just that and Jack's anger was dampened with a touch of pride. No doubt his boy had broken free in record time.

"So what, he gets out faster than you wanted. Breaks your record and shows you up all in one go, so you kick things up a notch?" 

"And when the hits didn't work they moved on to drugs," Mac added, the admission muttered under his breath, not meant for Jack to hear, if the wide blue eyes looking up at Jack when he turned around, surprised, were any indication.

"They drugged you?"

"He was being supervised by medical personnel," McCall interjected, knowing how badly that little piece of hidden truth could turn for him. "The entire time. And it is far from the first time we have tested an agent's limits with that method. As protective as you seem to be, I'm shocked it took you this long to notice."

"Oh, I could tell he'd been dosed with somethin' the second I walked into the room," Jack assured. "I just figured you had a decent enough medical facility here that they gave him something to take the edge off the bruises and the broken ribs. Not that you'd done it to him yourself."

"How long'd it take you?" Jack asked, turning his attention back to Mac. "Once they doped you up?"

"About five minutes," Mac offered a sheepish smile.

"And that's when you started kicking him?" Jack glanced back to the training officer, waiting for him to try and deny it. "It pissed you off that much? That he's that good? You had to break him somehow, right? What's a few busted ribs as long as it gets your point across?"

"That was never the intention," He hedged. "And if it had been an actual hostage situation-"

"But it wasn't. It was supposed to be a safe, controlled environment to give these kids a chance to see what kind of terrors come from an op gone bad like that. And instead, you went and turned it exactly that. Some overcompensating power trip that my kid has to pay the price for."

There was nothing he could say to make the situation look any better for himself, no argument he could come up with that could rival the one Jack was spewing back at him, so he settled for meek assurances instead. "It won't happen again."

"You're damn right it won't," Jack agreed. "Cause if Mac wants to stay and finish this thing through till the end, that's his call. But I came here fully prepared to march out those doors with him in tow. If I can't do that? The least I can do is make sure this position you've got, one you clearly don't deserve, leaves with me instead. You're not ever gonna be allowed to lay a hand on someone else's kid."

"Jack," Mac protested, not wanting to cause even more of a scene than he already had. "It's okay-"

"No. No, it ain't okay, buddy. I'm willing to let you make the call on you stayin' here, but this one is non-negotiable. He ain't gonna get away with what he did to you and if you had watched it happen to anyone other than yourself? You'd be backing my play one hundred percent. You don't put as much value on yourself as you do everyone else, so it's my job to make up the difference."

"You can't just have me fired-"

"You bet your ass I can," Jack countered easily. His posture was far from threatening, shoulders relaxed, hands at his sides, but the implication was clear that it would not be a good idea to go up against him. There was a tension thrumming just beneath the surface, percolating ever since receiving word that his kid had been hurt, and one wrong move would send it all boiling over. "If you have an office or a locker or something, I would suggest you start cleaning it out. Now."

McCall hung his head as he slunk past Jack, who resisted the urge to not-so-jokingly lunge at him as he went just to see him flinch, and out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

"You didn't have to do that," Mac said once they were alone, letting himself sink further back into the chair, not realizing how much strength he had been using to keep himself fully upright, not letting his weakness slip through the facade. As much as he hated causing a scene, he was going to breathe easier knowing that he was free of his tormentor for the remainder of the program. "But thanks."

"Course I did. That's my job, ain't it? Watchin' your back?"

"Not exactly how it's worded in our DXS contracts," Mac grinned automatically, the comfort of the assurance more soothing than the stinging pull the movement caused as his split lip protested the smile.

"They can change the title all they want," Jack shrugged. "Bodyguard, Overwatch, Security and Intel, whatever the hell they wanna call me. I don't care. Job doesn't change. You're my partner and I keep you safe. And I sent you here expectin' them to do the same thing. Not as good, mind you, nobody's gonna do a better job of watching your back than me, but this was completely unacceptable, kid. Now that there's not someone listenin' in on us, you wanna change your mind? We can get out of here, you and me. You earned a ticket home after today, nobody's gonna blame you for cashin' it in."

"No," Mac shook his head in protest. As excited as he was for the training to be over, he was going to see it through till the end. The day’s events had made him even more determined of that. "No, I want to stay."

"Don't s'pose you'd be real happy if I went and told 'em I was taking over that newly vacant position until you were done, would you? That would be a prime example of that overprotective hovering thing you're always accusin' me of doing?"

"Yeah, that's not happening," Mac rolled his eyes. Taking a breath and steeling himself for the pain moving would cause, he braced his hands on the arms of the chair and pushed himself up to standing. Jack was there, hands on his shoulders, steadying him, as he swayed for a moment. "I'm fine."

"Sure don't look it from where I'm standing," Jack muttered as Mac pushed his hands away and started towards the door.

"I'm fine." He repeated, walking through the door as Jack held it open for him. They couldn't stay in an admin office all day, and while the bed in Mac's dorm wasn't anywhere near as comfortable as the high-end mattress Jack had convinced him to invest in when he moved into his Grandfather's house that had actually started to feel a little like home before he had to up and leave again to go to the training program, it was miles better than an Army cot and he couldn't wait to crawl into it. "You can't stay here and babysit me. Getting beat up by my TO was enough embarrassment for the day."

"Hey," Jack stopped him with a hand on his arm, spinning him around in the hallway until they were facing each other. He hadn't known Mac while he was still in school, but from some of the stories he had listened to Mac and Bozer talk about ever since Mac's childhood best friend had become his roommate, Mac hadn't exactly been a popular kid growing up other than with the bullies who didn't understand just how amazing the kid was. That kind of negativity wasn't going to find its way back into his adult life, not as long as Jack Dalton was there to keep it out. "Is there somethin' else you need to tell me? It more than just him giving you a hard time?"

Mac was quick to dispel those fears. "No, it's fine. They don't really like me" He shrugged, face scrunching into a wince as he forgot about the bruises decorating his torso. "But it's more along the lines of them wishing things came as easily to them as they do me. Might be a little jealous, but they're not mean about it or anything. And it isn't like we're sent here to network and make friends. But they will give me hell about you needing to come in and fight my battles for me. So you're going home, and I'm going to go try and sleep this off before class tomorrow."

Jack hated it when Mac was able to out-logic him, which was exactly what he had just done, but he couldn't come up with an argument against it. "Okay," He agreed with a heavy sigh, as much as he hated to. "Okay, yeah I'm goin'. You sure you're gonna be okay?"

Mac nodded, hoping it came across far more confident than he actually felt about the decision.

Jack's arms were careful as he wrapped Mac in a hug, reading the apprehension he was feeling as easily as if Mac had said the fears out loud. "Little over a week," He reminded him. "And this is over. We go back to doin' our thing, you and me, savin' the world one mission at a time, okay? Back to the way it should be."

"A week," Mac repeated. He'd made it through practically the entire program, he could handle one more week. Especially if it meant that once it was over he was a certified agent and could get back to normal; back to Jack watching his back.


	16. A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Trained agent or not, sneaking into any house, let alone Mac’s with its hallways and every empty space filled with random odds and ends and half-finished contraptions, with arms full of grocery and pharmacy bags, was never an easy task. But Jack was nothing if not determined, hoping the drugs Mac had been riding high from after being released from Phoenix Med a few hours earlier with a shiny new set of pins holding together his ankle had knocked the kid out and let him sleep through Jack’s errand run.

He winced dramatically when the bags crinkled as he set them down on the kitchen counter, thankful that Bozer insisted the counters there stayed clutter-free and he didn’t have to attempt to push things out of his way and risk making more noise. There was no sound from the living room and he breathed a sigh of relief, thinking Mac had slept through his noisy entrance. Never one to pass up the opportunity to snap some quality blackmail pictures of his sleeping partner-that always ended up more adorable than they were embarrassing, though it didn’t stop him from trying- Jack made his way into the living room, stepping carefully to avoid the two creaky floorboards between him and his target.

But when he got there, he found the couch empty.

“Mac?” He called softly, spinning in a slow circle, scanning the rest of the living room, the white paper bag from the pharmacy still in his hand. “Where you at, bud?” It wasn’t unheard of for Mac to fall asleep in random places mid-project, so that habit combined with the drugs still coursing through the younger man’s system was a little concerning.

“You out on the deck?” Jack asked, jogging up the few quick steps and making sure all of Mac’s favorite chairs were empty. He spent a little longer leaning over the railing, making sure Mac hadn’t fallen into the yard below.

“Probably just went to the bathroom or somethin’,” Jack muttered to himself as he went back inside, trying his best to ignore the nagging feeling in his gut that something wasn’t right. It hadn’t eased up after taking a few moments to stop and put away the frozen and refrigerated groceries he had brought back.

“Mac?” He called again, raising his voice a little, his worry inching past the instinct of going out of his way to let his kid get some rest whenever the occasion allowed it. “It’s a fine line between you wantin’ your privacy and you bein’ a little punk and tryin’ to scare me by not answering. And if we’re leanin’ towards the second one you’re gonna regret it.”

It wasn’t exactly what Jack had been expecting, but there was a muffled “Jack?” called from what sounded like Mac’s bedroom, and Jack breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, buddy,” He answered as he made his way down the hall. “I’m back. Where you at?”

“My room.” It didn’t matter how many times Jack heard it, it always struck him how young Mac managed to sound when drugs were involved, especially strong ones like he was still on.

He didn’t know what to expect. There was a part of him that was hoping Mac had put some of those super smarts to good use and decided his bed was a better place to ride things out instead of crashing on the couch like he had insisted when they made it home. Rounding the corner of Mac’s doorframe to find his partner sprawled across his bedroom floor, slantedly leaning against the ladder leading to his loft with a mess of shattered glass around him, was not something he had prepared himself for.

“What the hell, kid?” Jack exclaimed, rushing forward before stopping to pick his way carefully through the glass, picking up Mac’s discarded crutches along the way. “I wasn’t even gone half an hour! You said you were fine on the couch!”

“ ‘m okay,” Mac assured, straightening up a little, the ladder creaking slightly behind him, prompting Jack to steady it with one hand while the other hovered over Mac, unsure of where to reach first. “Just, need some help up?”

“Of course,” Jack risked setting a hand on Mac’s shoulder. “Lemme check you over first though,” Worried eyes scanned the shards of glass surrounding Mac on the floor and he noticed the hand Mac was holding to his chest, fingers curled around a bloody palm. “You know I get all hovery when there’s blood involved. And you were already hurt before that. How’s that ankle feelin’?”

“Still hurts the same,” Mac offered in an answer that wasn’t exactly what Jack had been hoping to hear, but at least it wasn’t any worse. “I didn’t land on it.”

“That’s good, buddy,” Jack offered a comforting pat to his shoulder before kneeling, crouching carefully among the broken glass. “Can I see that hand? That don’t look too fun.”

Mac held it out without hesitation. “Hand hurts worse than it did when you left.” He said, staring at the gash across his palm. “It wasn’t hurting then.”

It didn’t seem too deep and had already stopped bleeding. When Jack held it up to eye level, he didn’t see any glass left in it. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. “Yeah, well, when I left you hadn’t tried to carve it up like this,” Jack scolded gently. “It don’t look too bad though, all things considered.”

“I don’t have to go back?” Mac perked up significantly at that news. “To medical? I didn’t think it needed stitches but if it does, you can do them. Right?”

“No, I don’t think it needs stitches,” Jack agreed. “But if it had, yeah, I’d be draggin’ you right back in. I’m not taking the risk of sewin’ up your hands. Those are too important. What were you doin’, anyway? I’d already brought you water. Sittin’ safe and sound on the coffee table right beside you. You forget? Decide to get your own? Or was what I brought you not good enough?”

“Didn’t get up for water.”

“What were you after then?” Jack’s eyebrows drew together in a frown, searching the floor, looking for something he had missed but the only things that seemed out of place in the cluttered bedroom were his favorite genius and the scattering of shattered glass. “Why’d you even come in here? I know you think you’re some kinda ninja hoppin’ around on these crutches, but you’re supposed to be takin’ it easy for a few days. Excuse me for thinking that would wait at least until I got back.”

“Wanted another pillow,” Mac admitted, ducking his head, worried Jack would be upset. “To prop my ankle up on. It started hurting worse once you weren’t there. You being there helps.”

Jack’s lips twitched upward at the last part of Mac’s admission. It was adorable enough that he almost forgot to feel guilty for not planning ahead and having a surplus of pillows ready and within Mac’s reach. “Okay,” he nodded slowly, trying to piece the story together. “So without me there to distract you, you started hurting worse. Decided to hop all the way in here, still higher than a damn kite, and… help me out here, hoss. Cause I’m still not seein’ where the broken glass comes in.”

“Saw it on my nightstand,” Mac sighed, staring at the cluttered mess beside his bed, now with an empty spot where the glass had been. “Guess I left it there before we went on that last op. Was going to take it back to the sink.”

“And you dropped it.” Jack filled in the blank.

“No,” Mac shook his head, squinting slightly at the memory. “No, I got dizzy. Dropped one of my crutches.” His forehead wrinkled. “They’re loud. When they hit the floor.”

Jack ran a hand over his face, attempting to mask any frustration and remind himself that Mac was hurting and far from sober. “And that knocked the glass out of your hand?”

“Nope. I tried to catch it,” Mac explained. “The crutch. So I had to get a hand empty. Quick.”

Jack didn’t stand a chance at hiding his amused grin at that. “So you’re tellin’ me that you were hoppin’ back to the couch, that you weren’t supposed to leave, on crutches, with a pillow in one hand and a glass in the other?”

Mac nodded.

“And when you had to drop one of ‘em you thought dropping the glass was a good idea?”

“Well not now, I don’t,” Mac rolled his eyes. “Cause I didn’t drop it in time to catch the crutch anyway. And then it broke and it was loud too.”

“And it spooked you, and you fell,” Jack finished for him.

“Cut my hand,” Mac nodded, staring down at the said hand, which was still cradled carefully in Jack’s grip, thumb soothing across the back. “When I landed. So now my hand hurts and my ankle. And you weren’t here.”

“No, and I’m real sorry ‘bout that,” Jack offered a sympathetic smile. “But that’s why you were supposed to stay put until I got back. Remember? Wait until those meds wore off?”

“That would’ve been a good idea,” Mac agreed. “Now I have to clean this up.”

“Nah, I’ll get it,” Jack brushed the task off with a wave of his free hand. “After I get you, and that pillow you had to have, back to the couch. And get that hand cleaned up.”

“Or maybe bed?” Mac asked, a hopeful eyebrow raised in Jack’s direction. “Closer. And I’m kinda tired now.”

“Of course you are,” Jack shook his head fondly. “Cause the busted up ankle, fresh outta surgery, wasn’t enough. You had to go and throw in a couple more things, just to keep it interesting. Told ya being such an overachiever was gonna catch up with you one of these days.” Jack teased, using one of Mac’s crutches to sweep clear a path through the broken glass between Mac’s current location and the bed. “It’s like, five feet. I’m carryin’ you that far. That cool with you?”

“Mmhm,” Mac nodded sleepily, leaning towards Jack. “Long day. Tired.”

“It ain’t even noon yet, buddy,” Jack smiled, unable to stop himself from reaching out and brushing Mac’s hair away from his forehead. “I’m sure if you try hard enough, you can find at least a couple more ways to scare me before today’s over.”

“Don’t mean to.”

“I know you don’t,” Jack assured, ignoring the crunch of glass beneath his boots as he inched closer, wrapping one arm behind Mac’s shoulders and sliding the other beneath his knees. “Let’s get you comfy and then I’ll take care of that hand, okay?" 

Mac nodded, not complaining as Jack picked him up with ease and carried him to bed. "Thanks for coming back," He mumbled into the soft fabric of Jack's t-shirt. 

"You really think I wouldn't?" 

"No," Mac smiled. "But it's good to know I was right."


	17. I Did Not See That Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several months ago, Nade mentioned having a love for Mac in glasses and how she needed more of it in fics. So this was written, with me intending to post it as a Tumblr drabble for her. After sending it to her for a preview, I jokingly said "Maybe I should keep it and get a headstart on Whumptober. If I start early enough maybe I will write one for each of them for each day!" I wasn't serious, but... here we are!

The door to Mac's room swung open and he and Jack both tensed. There were two ways an unannounced visitor to a hospital room could go: family, who were always welcome and didn't have to knock, or a member of Phoenix Med's staff who patients, and their overprotective partners, weren't nearly as excited to see. One liked to sneak in contraband breakfast left over from Bozer's stress-baking, while the only gifts the other ever brought were usually in the form of a hypodermic.

They both breathed a sigh of relief when Riley walked in. She paused, tilting her head to the side slightly, as if confused, for a moment before walking closer.

"Hey, darlin'," Jack greeted her with a smile, holding out an arm and pulling her into a hug without leaving his chair. "How'd the mission go without us?"

"Fine," She assured, wrapping an arm across his shoulders. "Everything went off without a hitch, just like I told you it would. We had everything under control, besides, this was an easy one."

"In all honestly though, those are usually the ones that go south the fastest," Mac reminded with a tired little lopsided smile.

"And wind up landing you in here," Riley teased, her gaze darting across Mac's face. She shifted to sit on the arm of Jack's chair, pretending to let his arm still around her waist help keep her balance. "I'm guessing the surgery went okay?"

"Fine," Mac smirked back, throwing her own words back at her. "Everything went off without a hitch, just like I told you it would."

"Yeah, well, I still hated having to leave right before it," She said. "Boze did too. He'll be here as soon as he's done with debrief. You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," Mac assured with a shrug, pulling himself further up on the pillows behind him and waving off Jack's hovering hands that were a split second away from jumping in to help, not quite able to hide a wince as the pillow propping his injured leg shifted. "A little sore. Nothing a couple days of rest and a few weeks of physical therapy and crutches won't fix."

Riley nodded, knowing that if there was something more serious that he wasn't telling her Jack would have offered up the information himself, but she didn't take her gaze away from his face and the little wrinkle that showed up between her eyebrows when she was attempting to decipher a particularly difficult puzzle stayed in place.

"What's with the stare?" Mac finally asked, laughing uncomfortably. "Is there something on my face or..."

"Actually, hoss," Jack barked a laugh, realizing what Riley was focusing on. "Now that you mention it, yeah, there is."

"What?" A hand, IV line trailing from it, came up to self-consciously brush at his face. It stilled as his fingers bumped against the plastic frames of his glasses and his cheeks turned red beneath them, as he laughed at himself. "Oh. Yeah, I don't guess you see these too often, huh?"

"Um, try never." Riley grinned back. "Care to explain?"

"Nothing to explain," Mac shrugged, picking at a loose thread on the hospital blanket as he talked. "I kinda hate 'em. And contacts are way safer in our line of work anyway. Glasses tend to break. A lot."

"Yeah," Jack muttered under his breath. "Course they do when you start tearin' them off to use as pieces in your doohickey of the week. And then you're left stumblin' around half-blind."

"Sometimes they break because of outside factors," Mac rolled his eyes, clearly having had this argument before. "And it's safer to wear contacts. If you're going up against a bad guy, the first thing they're gonna do is knock them off your face to give themselves the advantage. It's an obvious weakness when you do what we do. But they never bother to check to see if you have contacts in."

"Okay," Riley nodded slowly, processing his explanation. "But why are you wearing them now? If you hate them so much?"

"Couldn't wear my contacts for the surgery, so I didn't bother putting them in at all yesterday morning before we came in, just wore these." Mac sighed. "And because someone was yelling from the front door that we were going to be late because I was taking too long throwing together an overnight bag," He shot Jack an accusatory glare that his partner only grinned at, "The contacts are still sitting on my nightstand. And Jack's refusing to go get them for me."

"Damn straight I am," Jack leaned back in his chair, crossing his feet at the ankles, perfectly relaxed and unphased by Mac's rant. "You know the rules, I ain't leavin' this place till you do."

"C'mon, Jack, please?" Mac apparently wasn't above begging. "You know how much I hate these things."

"And you know I think they're adorable." Jack shrugged with a laugh. "You're gettin' to go home tomorrow, dude. You can survive a few more hours."

"Riley?" Mac turned hopeful eyes towards here, knowing that he wasn't going to sway Jack's decision on the matter.

"Sorry, Mac," She apologized with a smile. "I just got back from a four-day mission. You know how much sleep I got in those four days? Not nearly enough. I stopped in here to make sure you were okay and I'm going home to crash. By the time I'm awake again, you'll probably already be home yourself."

His dejected face, puppy dog eyes emphasized by the black frames surrounding them, was enough for her to offer at least a glimmer of hope. "Maybe you can guilt Bozer into bringing them to you?"

"Maybe," Mac nodded, wheels already turning, planning the best way to ask his roommate for the favor.

"Alright," She squeezed Jack in another hug before standing up and carefully wrapping her arms around Mac. "You work on that, I'm going home."

"Drive safe," Jack called after her once she was almost to the door.

She turned back around, getting one final glimpse of Mac's glasses before she left, knowing that if he had anything to say about it she would probably never get the chance to see them again. She wasn't going to tell him, but she hoped Bozer would turn down his request to rid him of his glasses as well. Jack was right, they were pretty adorable.


	18. Panic! At The Disco

The lights from the deck, casting shadows through the windows and into the dark living room, were the only things illuminating the familiar space around Jack when he woke up. He wasn't sure what had pulled him out of his slumber, tired enough from the draining mission with Murdoc and the bedside-sitting vigil of a hospital stay that had followed it, that he had happily crashed on the sofa in Mac's living room once everyone else had gone home. He shouldn't have been awake, not with as little sleep as he had gotten in the past several days. Something had to have woken him up.

He was still trying to figure out what it would have been when Mac's voice echoed through the house, a terror-laced scream that sent Jack's heart plummeting even though he had fallen asleep fully aware that the chances of nightmares plaguing both of them had been high. Tossing back the blanket that he had snagged from the back of the couch, he made his way through the quiet house, footfalls avoiding creaky floorboards and shins avoiding sharp corners of each potential obstacle he passed with ease.

"Mac?" He called, pushing the door to his partner's room open. "You okay?"

The only answer was a responding whimper, the Mac-shaped lump covered in twisted sheets writhed against their confines, arms and legs flailing and Jack cursed the sling waiting on the nightstand, moonlight shining through the space between the curtains and landing on it in a beautiful mockery. It couldn't do its job. couldn't help, protect and keep Mac safe from that distance. It was a feeling he recognized all too well as he pushed aside his regrets for allowing himself to fall asleep down the hall instead of dragging a chair into the corner of Mac's room and making camp there.

"Hey, kiddo," He stepped over to the bed, debating if it was safe for him to try and sit down beside Mac without getting kneed in the kidney. "Just a bad dream."

He knew first hand that restraining Mac's flailing hands would only result in him fighting more, but there was a freshly patched up bullet wound that was at risk of being ripped open. "Mac," He tried again, voice sterner, snapping his fingers close to Mac's face. "C'mon back to me."

Jack was close enough to watch Mac's face twist into a grimace, automatically curling towards the sound of the familiar voice. "You're dreamin' bud. You're safe, gotta wake up and see for yourself."

Mac's eyes shot open, suddenly enough that even though it was what Jack had been hoping for, it still startled him. "Easy," he assured, dropping a hand to Mac's heaving chest, keeping him still. "Just a bad dream, you're okay. I gotcha."

Mac managed a single nod, a sharp dip of his head as his eyes squeezed back shut, and he panted for air, reaching a hand out and latching on to Jack’s wrist. "Hurts,"

"Yeah I'm sure it does," Jack agreed with a sympathetic wince. "You were thrashin' around pretty good before I could get you to wake up. Had to pull on that shoulder pretty good. Let you catch your breath there for a minute and I need to check you out, make sure you didn't pop any of those stitches."

"Italy," Mac wheezed, reaching his free hand up to push Jack's out of the way, desperately scratching at his chest. "It was Italy all over again,"

"Naw, not quite," Jack offered a smile he didn't feel. He had felt the same fear as soon as he had run back into the room he had left Mac in, seeing him laying on the floor in a slowly forming pool of blood. "Maybe a little close but not as bad. Nowhere as close. It takes more than a little bullet through the shoulder to take you away from me."

"Hurts. Hurts the same."

"That's ‘cause you were tossin' and turning something awful," Jack reminded. "And by the time you came to back at Lake Como you were already past the week mark of healing. So yeah, they probably do feel about equally miserable. Just breathe through it, it'll ease up."

"You think he knew?" Mac asked, following Jack's coaching and pulling in a slow, measured breath. "Think he shot me there cause he knew it would do this?"

"Send you into a crazy awful flashback to the scariest moment of both of our lives?" Jack asked, beginning to scoff at the suggestion before realizing it wasn't as unlikely as he would like to think. "Honestly, dude, who knows. I wish I could say no, that he didn't have a clue and it was just another example of the cards not falling in our favor again, but if he knew about Italy, then, yeah. I can see him thinking that would be an added bonus."

"Not exactly encouraging," Mac sighed, prying his eyes back open and meeting Jack's gaze as the worst of the pain slowly began to fade. "That he's sitting in a cell somewhere relishing in knowing that he's still getting to me."

"You wanna talk it out?" Jack offered, sliding his free hand into place behind Mac's neck, grounding. "I can probably guess the highlights myself, I was, after all, actually conscious for that disastrous op, but if it'll help you move past it we can talk 'bout it."

"No," Mac shook his head, protesting. "No, I'm good. Reliving it once tonight was enough, thanks. But for the record, you were knocked unconscious for a while, so you missed part of it too."

He hadn't meant for it to be an insult, Jack knew he hadn't, but it struck an ache deep in his heart just the same. For the second time over the course of two years, he had let his partner come home with a bullet wound, and he wasn't around to keep it from happening either time. That was his whole job, keeping Mac safe, and he had failed. Twice. And now he had the second scar to prove it. But Mac had enough to deal with without adding Jack's problems in as well, so he forced a reassuring smile "Doesn't keep it from haunting my dreams though, that's for sure. So you're in good company, I guess."

"You're always there," Mac continued, swallowing and looking around the darkened room, slowly becoming more aware that it had only been a nightmare.

"Yeah, buddy," Jack smiled sadly, ignoring the pang of guilt he felt at the relief in the words. "I gotcha. I'm right here."

"No, no in the dreams. Right before the bullet hits? You're always there. Awake. Watching. Makes it worse, knowing that you have to see it happen."

"Aw, kid, you shouldn't worry about me," Jack admonished gently. "Real me or the dream one. But hey, if you really wanna make it up to me? You ready to let me check that shoulder out? Make sure you didn't do any damage before you woke up?"

"Yeah, okay," Mac agreed, releasing the grip on Jack's arm that he hadn't even realized he was still holding onto and began pushing at the blankets and sheets that were twisted around him.

"Easy," Jack pulled his own hands back and joined in. "Let me help you. You care if I turn a lamp on? It's too dark in here to see much of anything." Mac agreed far too easily for Jack's liking, arms dropping spent at his sides as he sunk back into the mattress and let Jack take over. A compliant Mac, Jack had found, was either an extremely upset or and extremely hurting Mac. Sometimes both, on rare, serious, occasions and Jack was starting to think that this was one of those times. He didn't flinch as Jack flicked the lamp on though, which was a good sign, though he looked significantly worse in the light. Pale and sweating, he seemed fragile in a way Jack didn't want to think about. So he didn't.

Covers finally pulled free, Jack breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Mac's unstained shirt. If he had pulled anything loose, done any damage, it hadn't been bad enough to bleed through the bandages. Yet. "So far, so good, kiddo. Can I get you out of this shirt? I'll be real careful."

"Yeah," Mac agreed, eyes darkening with determination. "Yeah, just, let me sit up? Probably easier and I, I don't really wanna be... it's gonna hurt no matter how careful you are. Help me up?"

"Course," Jack nodded, focusing on the job at hand instead of the hitch in Mac's breath as he slipped an arm behind his back and slowly got Mac sitting up, bracing his good elbow on his folded knees, leaning forward, closer to Jack, instead of back against the headboard. Carefully feeding one arm through the sleeve and then pulling it up over his torso, Jack motioned for Mac to tilt his head towards the side so he could slip the shirt over his head, the fabric wadded up over the injured shoulder. Slowly, he maneuvered Mac's arm out of the protective hold it had been in, tucked close to his chest and safe, since he had woken up, pulling it just enough away that he could slip the shirt down past the bandages on his shoulder and off his arm. "There we go. Wasn't so bad, was it?"

Mac shook his head slowly, eyes dropping closed again as he fought to keep from leaning forward into Jack, letting him take his weight and bury his face in the familiar comfort he offered. Jack braced a hand against the side of his neck instead, offering what comfort he could through the touch. "It's just really close."

He wasn't wrong. The corner of the tape Jack began gently pulling away from sweat-dampened skin fell only a couple inches away from the scar on Mac's chest. The closest he had ever come to losing his kid for good. Every time he saw it it sent a jolt through his heart as he remembered pulling Mac's unresponsive body, dripping wet, onto the shore of the lake, cold water mixing with rivulets of warm blood as he begged for him not to give up, not to leave him to take on the world on his own. He didn't realize he had slipped into a nightmare of his own until Mac's voice, something he hadn't been lucky enough to hear that awful night, broke through the haze of memory.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Jack assured, shaking his head and refocusing on the task at hand, pulling away layers of bandages and breathing a sigh of relief when he got his eyes on the latest proof of his failure, stitches still intact. "Pretty sure I'm supposed to be askin' you that, though."

"I'm okay," The answer would have been a little more believable if the words hadn't been as shaky as Mac himself was.

"That's a lie and not even a good one. But I think you mighta got lucky though," Jack ran a reassuring hand up and down Mac's arm, trying to chase away the last traces of the nightmare. "Don't look like you did any actual damage."

"Just hurts,"

"Yeah," Jack agreed, pulling his hand back up, hovering over the wound for a moment before coming to rest on his chest, thumb brushing against the puckered skin of the nearby scar. "This one givin' you any trouble? Or is it only the new one?" It was nothing new for an old injury to flare up, it was something they both dealt with from time to time, though neither of them liked to admit it. Now was not one of the times Jack was willing to let Mac pretend he wasn't suffering, even if there wasn't actually anything he could do to help.

"Can't tell," Mac's eyebrows drew together in a wince as he tried to concentrate, to focus past the panic still surging through him like a live wire and pinpoint the exact location of the pain. "Kinda all over." He looked up at Jack, blinking as he registered his presence for the first time, surprised as if he hadn't spent the last few minutes talking to him. "You didn't have to stay."

"Course I did," Jack smiled. "I thought I almost lost you, kiddo. Again. There was just as much of a chance of me needin' you to come rescue me from a nightmare, 'stead of the other way around."

That admission, that the events with Murdoc had left Jack just as rattled, that he wasn't alone in the terror that had followed them home, was enough for Mac's walls to crumble as he collapsed forward, hiding his face in Jack's chest.

"It's okay, buddy, I'm here." Jack's arms wrapped around him automatically, making sure he wasn't putting any pressure on Mac's injured shoulder as he pulled him closer, tucking his head beneath his chin and holding him tight, providing comfort, even if he didn't feel worthy of being given that privilege. But if Mac wanted him close, close was where he was going to stay.


	19. Broken Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for the angst. But the prompt was Broken Hearts. Without focusing on a certain someone’s exit or that weird attempt at a love triangle, where else was I supposed to take this one?

He failed.

There was no other way to look at it, Jack decided as he stared at the blood still on his hands. Dried beneath his nails and stuck to his cuticles no matter how many times he had washed his hands. Rusty flecks staining the band of the watch he was staring at far too often. He trusted his watch, though. And he couldn't say the same about the ancient clock hanging on the hospital wall. It seemed like it was lagging more and more with each pass the minute hand made, drawing time to a halt. He trusted his own watch.

Like Mac had trusted him. And he failed.

Failed to keep the kid safe.

Failed to protect him.

Failed to do his job- the job he had been doing for years without incident. Of all the bomb nerds that had completed tours with him watching their backs, he had made sure every one of them made it back home safe and not in a pine box. Alive and well. A warm body in worn BDU's to soak up happy tears once they were reunited instead of crying into the sharp edges of a folded flag. He had kept every single one of them alive.

And now his streak might just be broken.

Shattered, not unlike the heart that was still beating in his own chest. Because he hadn't just failed at keeping Mac safe, he had failed himself too, by letting himself get attached to the kid. For not being strong enough to walk away when he had the chance, thinking he was doing the right thing by choosing to not leave like every other person in the young man's life had done. He hadn't understood how anyone could do it, up and abandon the kid, but maybe if he had, that kid wouldn't be crashing on an operating table. If he had gotten on that plane and headed back to Texas like he was supposed to, if he had handed the reins over to the next Overwatch in line, maybe they could have done things right and kept Mac safe.

Succeeded where Jack had failed.

Failed at keeping Mac alive, but at keeping him out of his own heart as well. It was the cruelest twist of irony Jack had ever witnessed, realizing that the one tech he might not have been able to keep was the one he would have given anything for. He had let his guard down and let Mac in, only for Mac to be the one to leave. Because Jack couldn't walk away, Mac did. And it wasn't even by his own choice. It was Jack's fault. And he would never forgive himself for it.

_"There’s a layer of dust on the floor, Jack," Mac had insisted, unsnapping his helmet to wipe away the sweat gathering on his forehead. "There's nobody in there. There would be prints. Nobody has walked here for weeks."_

_"We’re in the middle of the desert, Carls Jr. There’s dust on everything. Now put that back on," Jack scolded. His view as he made his way from where he had parked the humvee wasn’t perfect, but he could see enough. "And don’t get any closer until I get there. You don't know that it’s empty. There could be a way in we didn't see on the preliminary lap around the place. Better safe than sorry."_

_"Jack, I'm exhausted," Mac sighed, blue eyes looking impossibly brighter, highlighted by the dust staining his face, even from Jack’s distance. "And you have to be too. This is our last call of the day. Let me go in, disarm it, and get out of here. Please? I'm too tired to deal with you being all overprotective and wasting time right now."_

_“My instincts are tellin’ me there’s something off here,” Jack tried again, ignoring the offhanded comment that let him know he wasn’t doing as good a job as he thought he was when it came to hiding the toll the long hours in the pounding sun was taking on him. “The two minutes it’s gonna take me to clear the place? Won’t kill you. You not lettin’ me clear it? Just might.”_

_“Okay, fine,” Mac’s shoulders slumped even more and Jack felt a pang of guilt. His own gear was starting to feel oppressive and heavy and it was nothing compared to the weight of all the gear the kid had to shlep around. “I won’t go far, okay? Just into the doorway. I might as well see if I can get a look and already have out the tools I need to disarm it.”_

_“What?” Jack wasn’t going to pass up the prime opportunity to make the time pass. “You plannin’ on usin’ actual tools this time? Not some piece of junk you dig out of the trashcan back at mess? Cause I think I saw some sporks there today. That’s pretty much a goldmine for a weird little nerdy guy like you. Maybe mix ‘em with one of the thousand extra tubes of chapstick your buddy Bozer keeps sendin’ us and the thing’ll spark up and take care of the bomb by itself. Won’t even need you.”_

_“One time,” Jack could hear the grin breaking through the stress in Mac’s voice. Talking about home was always a touchy subject with his EOD tech, but his childhood best friend was always a safe bet. He was also, from what Jack could tell, the one person who had bothered to stick around in the kid’s life. “One time I mention that the dry air here meant that it was something I could always use and now I think he buys out the entire shelf at CVS every month for those care packages. And I really only said it because he wouldn’t let up on needing to send me something and that was the cheapest thing I could think of.”_

_“The dude worries about you,” It was something Jack had discovered was pretty difficult not to do. “There’s nothin’ wrong with that.”_

_“Yeah, but I know that without him having to spend his entire paycheck on sending junk to us.”_

_“True,” Jack agreed, finally coming close enough to the house to be able to get a better view of what they were dealing with. Mac had been right, there seemed to be a layer of dust over every entrance point. The only disturbances were Mac’s own tracks leading towards the front door where he was hovering in the entranceway. “Next time you get to talk to him you can tell him that. As long as he don’t stop sendin’ those cookies. We wouldn’t want those to stop comin’.”_

_“If you think those are good, just wait until we get out of here and I convince you to make a trip out to visit me in California. I guarantee you, you’ll gain at least ten pounds before you leave.”_

_Jack’s gait slowed to keep his steps from visibly faltering. The kid with all the layers of trust issues had grown comfortable enough around him to want to see him, even after they made it back home. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind though, letting it be overtaken by the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. Mac was in danger, and it was his job to keep it from reaching him. He just didn’t know how. “You see anything suspicious in there, hoss?”_

_“No,” Mac shrugged. “Nothing. Just like every other abandoned house we’ve stopped at. Can I go in now?”_

_“Nope. Not yet,” Jack shook his head, scanning the crisscross of tire tracks weaving across the road._

_“Okay, you’re close enough to make a shot if someone sneaks up on me,” Mac decided, turning around and seeing how fast Jack had crossed the distance between them. “I’m going a little further.”_

_“Just…” Jack sighed, unable to give Mac an actual reason for why he didn’t want him to move. “Be careful.” There was something about the tracks that didn’t add up._

_Mac laughed. “I diffuse bombs for a living, Jack. Careful’s right there in the job description.”_

_There. One of the sets of tire tracks wasn’t going up or down the road, but cutting towards the house Mac was in. But the tracks disappeared before getting close, almost as if the car had stopped. “Or they knew enough to know how to cover their tracks,” Jack whispered to himself._

_“What was that?” Mac called, spinning back around, framed in the doorway, frown peeking out from beneath his helmet when he saw Jack take off running towards him. “Jack?”_

_“Get out of there!” Jack screamed, waving Mac closer as he begged his legs to move faster. Running closer as he begged for Mac to run away. “I was right. Mac, get the hell out of there, now!”_

_He wasn’t sure how much of his warning Mac heard before the building exploded around him and Jack’s world-and the kid who had unintentionally become the center point of which that world revolved around-went up in flames._

He had to be okay.

That was the only thought that kept circling Jack’s brain. The only thing his mind would let him focus on. He hadn’t allowed himself to be checked over, despite the bruises and cuts that marred his face and what was almost certainly a concussion. He didn’t deserve to be taken care of. Not when he hadn’t been able to do the one thing he was there to do. Not when there were soldiers being rushed through the doors of the army hospital every moment who had gotten hurt doing their jobs. Not like him. He had only gotten hurt because he hadn’t done his.

It wouldn’t matter anyway, he had decided, staring past the blood and grime on his face, peering into haunted eyes he didn’t even recognize as his own in the bathroom mirror when one of the attending nurses had been adamant that he at least get cleaned up. He wasn’t going to waste anyone’s time by letting them worry about him. Because if Mac wasn’t okay? Didn’t pull through? He wasn’t going to stick around long enough for it to do him any good. And he wasn’t going to let some doctor waste his or her time patching him up just when he was planning on turning around and undoing all their hard work.

“C’mon, kid,” He pleaded, voice a broken whisper that got lost in the thrum of the busy hospital hallway he was sitting in. People had stopped asking him to move a long time ago, carefully stepping and wheeling carts and wheelchairs around him. He hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of collapsing in one of the waiting room chairs. He didn’t deserve it. His aching joints, instead, were locked into place on the hard floor, back against the wall. “Pull through for me.”

He had to be okay.

There was no other option. One of them going home alive when the other didn’t was never how their story was supposed to end. If, and Jack had always known it was a possibility, he couldn’t keep his tech safe, he had always thought that would be it for him too. “Leave it to good ol’ Jack,” they would say. “To find a way to literally go out with a bang.” It was all or nothing. Or at least, it was supposed to be.

“You weren’t supposed to go out without me,” Jack continued, not caring that it must have looked like he had officially lost his mind, sitting there in the hallway, covered in blood and dust, talking to a partner, no, a friend, who probably wasn’t even still alive to complain that he wasn’t anywhere near close enough to hear him. “If a blaze of glory was how this ride was supposed to end, so be it, but you don’t get to check out before I do. We either both make it home or we both go out and make one hell of a bang doin’ it. You’re goin’ kaboom, I’m goin’ kaboom with you. That was the plan, at least. Gonna have to make it a rule, I guess. Might even rank this one higher than not touchin’ Jack’s stuff.”

He didn’t want to begin unpacking the emotional baggage that was nagging at him that somewhere during their tour together, Mac had ended up becoming one of those things Jack was feeling oddly protective of. The most important thing he had to his name.

All he could do was hope that against all odds, Mac would pull through and he would get a chance to tell him their partnership’s newest rule.

And the next time Jack forgot that rule and went out of his way to make sure he was the one who got hurt instead of Mac, his partner was there waiting by his bedside when he woke up to remind him.


	20. Toto, I Have A Feeling We're Not In Kansas Any More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is another of my favorites! Sandbox days are always fun.

It's a hail of bullets, his own, and counter-fire from the marks he is supposed to be taking out, with his kid trapped in the middle. 

"Mac, get outta there!" He screamed. He had learned early on in their assigned partnership that raising his voice at the kid was one of the quickest ways to get his defenses up. He would practically shut down, dig in his heels and do exactly what he had been told not to do out of pure spite. Jack didn't have the time to analyze the obvious issues his EOD Tech had with authority figures, too busy trying to keep the scrawny little bomb nerd alive. Besides, he didn't like to think of himself as outranking the younger man. They were partners. Equals in every way that mattered. Until Mac didn't have the common sense to dive out of the line of fire when bullets started flying, choosing instead to stay in the open street, finishing deactivating the bomb that he had found there. "It's not a suggestion, Mac," Jack yelled again, telling himself that it wasn't fear for the kid's safety that was to blame for the panic in his voice, he just had to be loud to be heard, even over comms, through the roaring shots echoing around them. "Get yourself to cover. Now!" 

"I'm almost done," Mac muttered, voice barely hindered by the pocket knife held between his teeth, and Jack was met with the stark reality that he didn't, in fact, have to yell to be heard. Oops. 

"I don't care if you're almost done or not," Jack continued, firing back as one of the gunmen's bullets zinged off the car Mac was crouched behind, close enough that Jack heard the metallic reverberation in his own ear. "We can circle back 'round when this place is cleared, get out. That brain of yours ain't gonna be any good to that bomb if it's splattered all over it."

"Rather it be mine than one of the kids who were playing out here earlier," Mac grumbled under his breath, ducking on instinct as the side mirror of the car shattered from another bullet.

"Angus, now!" Jack's voice carried, without the comms, causing Mac to turn and look behind him for a moment, startled eyes scanning for Jack's lookout before turning back to the bomb.

"One wire," Mac promised, taking the knife out of the improvised hold of his teeth and snapping open the wire cutters. "One wire and I'm out."

The breath of relief that wooshed through Jack's ear as the bomb was disabled sounded too similar to the airstream behind a bullet for Jack to find comforting. "So help me, kid, if you don't get your ass in gear-"

"I'm going, I'm going," Mac promised, shoving his supplies hurriedly into his pockets as he slowly began backing away from the bomb, hiding behind the cover of the car before risking a run through open space. "Alleyway at my seven o'clock. You got my back?"

"Always," Jack promised, finger hovering just over the trigger, ready to provide cover. "I'm ready whenever you are, hoss. Let's get you out of there."

Mac nodded, hand appearing behind his back, visible, hopefully, only to the sight of Jack's scope and not to whoever was returning fire. Three fingers counted down to none, too slowly and too fast at the same time as Jack readied himself. He wasn't going to take his eyes off his kid to even blink until he was safe. The shots began up again as soon as Mac was in the open, darting to the nearest cover as fast as he could with the pounds of extra weight he was carrying from his gear. A brief pause for Jack to fire, hitting one of his targets if the pained yell he heard echoing from the far side of the street was any indication, Mac ducked behind what was once a produce cart before beginning the process over again.

Another one of Jack's rounds landed true as a second gunman ceased fire, leaving only one left. There weren't as many shots ringing out, the final man standing having apparently decided that since he no longer had them outnumbered, he needed to focus on hitting his target instead of intimidating him. Mac's hands came up on instinct, an attempt at protecting his head despite the helmet he was wearing, as the bullets came even closer, sending up little clouds of dust as they hit the ground where his feet had landed only fractions of a second before. Jack caught the glint of the opposing rifle and he shifted his target, ever so slightly, but his next shot still missed.

His attention flitted back to Mac though, as a surprised yelp cut through his earpiece. A splash of red against the beige sleeve of Macs BDUs and a stumbled step breaking his stride. Jack growled in frustration, choosing excessiveness over accuracy as he opened fire, regardless of the paperwork and questions he would have to answer about how many bullets he fired to take down a single target.

It worked.

Mac made it safely to the cover of the alleyway at almost the same time the bullets stopped flying and Jack allowed himself a moment to breathe. But only one moment. He had a hit bomb tech to worry about. He wasn't about to shoulder his rifle. Not yet, when there was still a chance that the final gunman had been smarter than the other two and was simply waiting to draw Jack out, but it was quiet as he made his way down from his post and quickly down the street towards the alley where Mac was waiting.

He was leaning against the wall of the closest building when Jack finally arrived, bloody fingers clutching at his bicep.

"Aww, kid," Jack winced, stepping closer and ignoring both the flinch from Mac as his voice startled him and the sympathy ache in his own arm. "C'mere, lemme see it."

Mac shook his head, helmet scraping against the wall behind him and stirring up dust with his eyes squeezed closed against the pain. Still running on an adrenaline high, defensive. "Did you get him?"

"I got him," Jack assured, reaching out a hand, hovering just over the shoulder of Mac's injured arm. "It's okay, bud. Take a breath and come off it."

As soon as his hand made contact Mac recoiled from the touch. His eyes snapped open and there was anger there, underlying the hurt, and Jack was suddenly left staring at the untrusting, hurt, kid who had messed with his stuff instead of the partner whose trust Jack had slowly earned. A feral dog, threatened and ready to snap instead of the lovable stray Jack had come to know.

"Don't. Don't touch me," Mac hissed and Jack nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to take a step back.

"Mac," he made sure to keep his voice low as he ducked his head, trying to meet the younger man's eyes. "Mac, it's just me. It's Jack. You're okay, buddy. I gotcha."

"Don't," Mac insisted again, wild-eyed and unfocused, scanning the dim alleyway, looking for a way out that Jack couldn't intercept. "Stay… stay back."

Jack was beginning to worry that what he had hoped was just a graze was worse than he first thought. Or maybe the heat, well over one hundred in the shade, and that was without the added weight of protective gear, was getting the best of his partner. "Hey, dude, look at me," He snapped his fingers. "You with me? I need to know if you're tracking, Mac. You know who I am?"

"Shut up, Jack," Mac used his free hand to push Jack's hand out of his face. "Course I know it's you. Just, just don't touch me."

Jack breathed a sigh of relief before refocusing. He wasn't finished. "As glad as I am to hear that, you still gotta let me check that arm out."

"I said, don't touch me."

"I know, I know, I heard ya. Got the message loud and clear. Only problem with that, bud, is that plan don't really work for me. I gotta make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine-," Mac began but Jack cut him off before he could get any further.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you are," Jack agreed. "I don't think it's anything more than a graze, but you gotta let me get a look to make sure. Even if it is hardly nothin', that don't keep it from hurtin' though. It's okay. I gotcha." He held Mac's gaze, steady and even, waiting for the adrenaline to crash and Mac's rebuilt walls to crumble once more. Waiting for him to remember that Jack could be trusted.

"He shot me," Mac's voice was shaky as he finally wound down enough to pull in a breath, defenses draining out of his eyes as he glanced down at his bloody sleeve, hand still clutching at the wound. "I-I'm hit."

"Just a little bit," Jack managed a smile he hoped was somewhat convincing, even through the guilt and worry that was coursing through him. "You wanna let me get a look now?" 

Mac nodded, slowly, eyes fixated on the blood that welled up as he slowly pulled his hand away and his knees began to buckle. 

"Easy, easy," Jack caught him, one hand on his waist the other bracing the elbow of his uninjured arm. "You're okay. You need to sit down for a minute?"

Mac shook his head, protesting, though Jack could feel the strain it took for him to keep his legs locked and steady. 

"Okay," A hurried glance behind him revealed a still empty street. After the showdown only moments earlier it was a fairly safe bet that no locals would be braving the scene just yet. "We're gonna take this off for a minute," He decided, breaking his own personal rule and reaching under Mac's chin to unlatch the snap of his helmet, letting it drop unceremoniously to the ground before loosening the collar of Mac's jacket, cursing the desert for not providing the slightest gust of air, even if it was stiflingly hot, to hit sweat-soaked skin. His hand came to rest against the side of Mac's neck, pulse thrumming away beneath his fingers. "You're alright," He promised again, hoping he wasn't lying. 

Mac nodded, trusting Jack's judgment, and managed to get his feet a little more securely beneath him before Jack felt safe enough to risk letting him stand on his own, even supported by the building at his back. "It okay for me to see what we're dealin' with now?" He asked, not wanting to move too fast and send Mac back into his protective mode that, apparently, triggered his fight or flight instincts. 

"Yeah," Mac agreed, fully dropping his hand and wiping a smear of blood across his thigh before reaching for the canteen hanging off his belt and untwisting the cap with hands he was hoping Jack wouldn't see tremble. "Yeah, go for it. Sorry. I got a little..."

"Don't worry 'bout it," Jack talked as he carefully began peeling away blood-soaked fabric, the edges singed, from Mac's arm. "You're hit and comin' off one hell of an adrenaline rush. Nothin' to apologize for." 

"It hurts," Mac admitted, seeming unbothered by the realization, merely stating a fact. "I mean, I knew it would. It's a bullet wound. But still."

"First one always sneaks up on you like that," Jack agreed, finally getting his first clear look at the graze, a channel carved into the muscle of the kid’s upper arm. "Looks like he just winged ya. Hurts like hell, but you got lucky, bud."

"Lucky would have been not getting hit in the first place," Mac argued, face twisting into a wince as Jack prodded at his arm. 

"Nah, could'a been a whole lot worse," Jack breathed a sigh of relief, tension draining from his shoulders as he decided Mac really was going to be fine. "And as accident-prone as you are? I'm shocked you made it this long without catching a bullet before now." 

"Catching implies that I kept it," Mac protested with a weak smile. "Didn't get this one to stick around long enough to try." 

"Oh, I'm sure it's layin' back there in the sand somewhere if you wanna go lookin' for it," Jack hooked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing towards the deserted street as he wrapped Mac's arm up as best he could with the meager supplies kept in his pockets. "In my experience though? These ones are way easier to come back from than the ones that actually stick in ya. Scars make way cooler souvenirs than stained up old bullets, too." 

By the surprised look on Mac's face when he looked up to meet Jack's eyes, he had forgotten about his overwatch's service history that extended well past the Army. "How many?" Mac asked, head tilted and curious, picturing a jar sitting on a bookshelf in Jack's home back in Texas, collecting dust during his deployment, filled with bullets and shrapnel and even a blade or two. A tally of close-calls and near-misses that almost kept him from being there to talk Mac through his first. 

"Too many to count," Jack shook his head. "Too many to count." 

"Just the highlights then," Mac prompted, knowing it wouldn't take much to lure a long-winded, heavily embellished story, or five, out of the older man. "Come on, since when do you turn down the chance to impart a little, and I use this word lightly here, wisdom? Not to mention, I'm pretty sure there's a rule out there somewhere about not denying the request of a wounded man."

Jack couldn't help but chuckle as he finished tying off the dressing on Mac's arm and reached down, picking up his discarded helmet from the ground and brushing the dust off before plopping it back on Mac's head. "C'mon. I can probably squeeze a few stories in on the way back to base. You're gonna be just fine, kid."


	21. I Don't Feel So Well

Mac barely had time to make it through the decon shower, a crude set up of plastic enclosed shower stalls set up in the parking lot of the private airstrip Matty had arranged for them to fly out of, before the first muscle spasm hit. Teeth chattering from the cold water, hair dripping in his eyes, he was trying to convince the adhesive of a pressure bandage to stick to the still damp skin of his thigh, an arduous task in itself, when the muscles of that leg seized. Going rigid before rippling beneath his hands, he managed to grab hold of the plastic curtain that was seriously lacking in the privacy department as he tried to ride it out. 

He had known it was coming. Even before the video call with the doctor on call at Phoenix Med had warned him of what to expect when he decided against staying at a local hospital, opting instead to tough it out for a non-stop flight across the country. But knowing and actually experiencing it were two completely different things and it still managed to sneak up on him. Stealing his breath and causing the edges of his vision to go grey. He didn't think he had cried out, didn't think he had the air left in his lungs to make a sound after it had wooshed out of him in a huff, but he must have because the next thing he knew there were familiar hands on him. One, warm against his chest, and the other latching around his hand that, now that his attention had been drawn there, was clawing at his already injured leg. Jack brought him close, leaning against the solid wall of muscle that was his own chest, holding him upright until the muscles in his leg stopped trying to turn themselves inside out and he could draw a ragged breath. 

"Worst of it over?" Jack asked softly once Mac's head dropped back against his shoulder, wet hair splatting across Jack's neck. 

"Think so," He nodded, hating how his voice sounded just as weak as the rest of him felt. And it was only really beginning. "That... that wasn't fun." 

"Ready to change your mind about hoppin' on that plane?" Jack had made it very clear how much he hated the idea of Mac flying all the way back to California and he was hoping the first of what promised to be many more episodes before they landed would help convince Mac to listen to him and bed down in the closest hospital for the next day or so. "It ain't gonna get any easier from here." 

Mac shook his head in protest, leaning into Jack for a moment more, soaking up comfort while he could, before forcing himself to push away. He needed to finish getting dressed and try to make it on board before the next round hit. "I'd rather ride it out at home." 

"You ain't gonna be at home though," Jack argued, crouching down to finish bandaging Mac's leg, frowning at the gash the scissors left behind as he smoothed tape over quivering muscles there. "You're gonna be piled up in Phoenix Med. And for a good long while this time, too. I'm not dragging you out of there AMA after this one. And unless they've done some major renovations in the past, what, two days? Since we've been out here? One hospital isn't much different than the next."

"I'm going to be miserable and exhausted and hurting," Mac argued, doing his best to help Jack, who had taken it upon himself to finish getting Mac dressed, though he probably was more of a hindrance than actual help. "I'd rather be there with a medical staff I at least know and trust, without having to worry about keeping up a cover story, until this all passes out of my system." 

"And what about the five-hour plane ride until we get there, huh?" Jack asked, grabbing one of the scratchy towels they had been provided with and attempting to dry some of the water from Mac's hair. The kid was still shivering, even in a pair of worn sweats and his favorite henley, and the cold water dripping onto his collar wasn't helping. "What are we gonna do until then?" 

"Ride it out," Mac shrugged. "Nothing else to do. I'll be okay." 

"I don't like it, Mac," Jack tossed the towel, which hadn't done much more than making Mac's hair stand up even worse, into the corner of the little plastic enclosed room. There was no one else around, and even if there was nobody was going to comment on him being a little more touchy-feely than usual, not after watching Mac's struggle on the other side of that glass, so he carefully took Mac's face in both of his hands, peering into tired blue eyes, searching for any traces of hidden pain. "I've about had my fill of watching you suffer for a while, kiddo. Don't know how much more of it this ol' heart of mine can take." 

"I'll stay if you want me to," Mac sighed. "But I really think I would rather be home." 

"Even if this flight's every bit as awful as I think it's gonna be?" 

“Even then,” Mac agreed, shooting Jack a weak smile. “I got you to get me through it though, right?”

“Always,” Jack agreed, his disapproval of Mac’s plan shifting to the back of his mind as he reminded himself that while the mission might have been through, his job was far from over. He still had a kid to protect. “You done in here? Ready to hop on the plane?”

“Yeah, should probably get settled before another spasm hits,” Mac agreed, rubbing at his thigh, still feeling phantom traces of the first ache and knowing it was only going to get worse.

“Now why’d you have to go and say that?” Jack complained as he, for the second time in far too short a period, ducked under Mac’s arm and began helping him walk. “Now it’s gonna happen.”

“It’s gonna happen whether I say it or not,” Mac huffed as they made their way towards the awaiting plane, trying to keep as much weight off his injured leg as he could. “Muscle spasms, difficulty breathing, headache, nausea…”

“Okay, okay,” Jack held up a protesting hand and stopped to let Mac catch his breath at the bottom of the stairs leading up towards the plane. “I was there for the lecture from the docs back home, I don’t need a recap.” In actuality, he could have recited every symptom, likely and possible, back verbatim. There was nothing he took more seriously than Mac’s safety and he had listened intently to what to expect when Mac had decided to suffer through a plane ride home. He had spent the time while Mac was in the shower scouring online medical journals on his phone, doing his own research. He was prepared, as well as he could be, for the worst-case scenario. It didn’t mean he wasn’t hoping it wouldn’t get as bad as he feared, though.

They were only a few steps onto the plane, barely out of the doorway, when Mac buckled, hinging at the waist as the muscles in his side contracted and the only thing keeping him upright was Jack’s steady hands, somehow managing to hold him up while rubbing away the last of the pain as it abated. “Couch?” He asked, assuming the answer would be a yes and automatically steering them in that direction. “Or you wanna sit up for a while? Whichever’s easiest on you.”

“Couch,” Mac agreed, voice a hoarse whisper as he fought to catch his breath.

Jack barely noticed the copilot locking up behind them and setting the case of pre-loaded vials and syringes onto the table next to the couch he settled Mac on as he grabbed one of the warm blue blankets Phoenix always kept stored in the overhead compartments and shaking it out of its neat folds. “Go ahead and get comfy,” he said “We still got a whole,” he paused to look at his watch before covering Mac up. “Forty minutes or so before your next round of meds.”

“Not sure comfy is really in the cards right now,” Mac admitted as he sat down on the couch sideways, stretching his leg across the cushions and rubbing absentmindedly at it as even the slight movement caused a twinge of pain.

“C’mon,” Jack gently batted Mac’s hand away before adjusting a pillow beneath his knee and settled himself down on the couch behind Mac, pulling the younger man down to rest against his chest. “Might as well try and get some rest if you can, ‘fore it gets real bad.”

Whatever higher power was in charge of making the decisions must have had a sense of humor that evening because Jack had no more than spoke the words before another muscle spasm tore through Mac’s body. His fingers scrambled for something to latch onto, wrapping around Jack’s waiting hand in a vise-like grip as his entire body went rigid with pain.

“Breathe through it,” Jack coached, voice low in Mac’s ear over the rush of hurt. “Where? Where’s this one hitting? I can’t help you if I don’t know where it’s worst.”

“E-every,” Mac gasped as he fought to pull in a breath. “Everywhere.”

Jack had known it was going to get worse, but even he wasn’t prepared for the really bad symptoms to kick in before the plane had even left the tarmac. For one muscle to seize up and trigger another one, a seemingly neverending chain of misery for the kid he was supposed to be protecting. “Just ride it out, hoss,” He murmured, reaching up with the hand that wasn’t trapped in Mac’s grip to card through his hair, still damp from his decon shower. “It’ll pass. Always does. Just gotta get to the other side.”

He had hoped that the latest attack would be over as suddenly as it began, but that wasn’t the case. Another prime example of his and Mac’s spectacularly bad luck. Instead of ending, it slowly fizzled out, one traumatized muscle releasing at a time until Mac was laying boneless against his chest, not quite able to mask the whimpers that snuck out between gasps of air. “Don’t rush it,” Jack coached, knowing his voice and the weak connection of their hands that had shifted so that he was the one hanging on for dear life, were the few tethers Mac had left to keep the pain from completely unraveling him. “Nice and slow. You’re okay, I gotcha. I’m right here. Only thing you gotta do right now is keep breathin’.”

“I’m… I’m alright,” Mac decided after a few more moments, though the way he turned his head to hide in the juncture of Jack’s neck and shoulder said otherwise.

“Not yet, kiddo,” Jack argued, somehow managing to pull Mac even closer as he settled in for what promised to be one of the worst flights home for both of them. “You ain’t alright just yet. But I’ll get you there.”


	22. Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You?

Jack never thought to check Mac's phone for a set alarm. He had assumed being up and down for most of the night making hurried trips to the bathroom as he fought his way through one hell of a bout of food poisoning, Mac would have known to turn his phone to silent. There was no way he would be going in to work. It hadn't quite been three hours since the last time he had been awake.

Sometimes, his genius was downright dumb.

Mac was already out of bed by the time Jack made it down the hall and to his room, shuffling his feet towards the open closet door, brow furrowed in the tell-tale sign of a headache as he pondered his wardrobe trying to find something that walked the fine line between professional and still comfy.

"Now, just where do you think you're going?" Jack asked as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. He almost felt guilty for his voice making the younger man jump, but if he had still been in bed where he was supposed to be, he wouldn't have needed to come to scold him in the first place.

"Work," Mac replied without turning around. "It's Monday."

"I know what day it is," Jack rolled his eyes, crossing the room in three solid strides and dropping a hand to Mac's shoulder, turning him away from the closet and back towards his bed. "I ain't stupid. What's stupid is you thinking you're going in to work today."

"I'm fin-"

A resisting hand rose up, hovering in front of Mac's face. "If you finish that sentence I'm making you take tomorrow off too."

"But, really, Jack I'm feeling way better."

"Great!" Jack clapped his hands, a fake smile plastered across his face. "Glad to hear it. What are we having for breakfast, then? Your choice. Scrambled eggs? With the peppers and onions and cheese that you know are one of my culinary specialties? Or are we going out? You know, really celebrate the occasion? Greasy diner bacon and pancakes dripping in butter and syrup? Maybe a big ol' glass of orange juice? Though I guess we could have that either way..."

The mention of orange juice must have been the final trigger because he almost felt guilty, which was twice in far too short of a time for Jack's liking, as Mac paled before turning an impressive shade of green and shoving past him, heading for the bathroom with a mumbled "I hate you" barely able to be heard from behind the closed fist he had raised to his lips.

“Yeah, I know you do,” Jack muttered as he followed, as he had done all night despite Mac’s protests that he didn’t need him to.

Mac was kneeling in front of the toilet when Jack made it into the bathroom and he dropped back onto his haunches when he realized that Jack had no intention of leaving him alone, hands braced against his thighs.

“Don’t think there’s anything left in there for you to bring up, kiddo,” Jack reached for the glass he had left on the counter and filled it partway with cold water from the tap, handing it to Mac. “Not much point in spendin’ the morning where you spent most of the night. Let’s get you back to bed.”

“I really thought I was feeling better,” Mac sighed, taking a small sip of the offered water before rising to standing and shouldering Jack out of the way as he opened the medicine cabinet and reached for his toothbrush.

“And I thought you knew better than eating the questionable food offered at the party you were sent in to crash.”

“When have you ever, in your entire life, passed up free food?” Mac asked through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“When it’s shrimp and I have no idea how long it’s been laying out!” Jack rolled his eyes. “Just one more reason you shouldn’t be allowed to go on a job without me there to watch your back.”

Mac spat into the sink and ran a hand through the sweaty hair plastered to his forehead. “I was undercover and our mark offered it to me. I didn't want to be rude. What was I supposed to do?”

“Sayin’ I was allergic to it would have been my go-to,” Jack met his gaze in the mirror with a raised eyebrow. “That idea didn’t cross that big brain of yours?”

“No, honestly,” Mac sighed, paling at the mention of what had landed him in his current predicament. “It didn’t. Can we stop talking about it now? Please? It wasn’t great going down and was even worse coming back up. The sooner I forget about it, the better.”

“Yeah, alright,” Jack agreed. “So long as you actually listen to me this time and go crawl back into bed instead of thinkin’ you’re gonna do anybody any good going into work today. That lab cost Phoenix way too much money for you to go hurlin’ all over it.”

“I really am better than I was,” Mac couldn’t help but argue as he shuffled his way back towards his bedroom.

“I know you are,” Jack agreed. “But you’re not back to firing on all cylinders just yet. So we’re takin’ a sick day. Hey, actually, pump the brakes on gettin’ back in bed just yet. Lemme get some clean sheets on there first.”

“I can do it,” Mac offered, heading back towards the closet, this time setting his sights on the shelf of extra bedding instead of work clothes, but Jack stopped him with a hand on each of his shoulders, steering him away before he could get too far.

“You see that chair?” He nodded towards the armchair in the corner of the room. “You’re gonna plop your scrawny, pukey, ass in it and not move until I say you’re allowed to. And then it’s only so you can get some more rest in a bed that isn’t all sweaty and gross.”

“You know you don’t have to do all this, right?” Mac asked once he was settled in the chair as Jack had insisted. “You don’t even have to stick around here. I’m okay.”

“I don’t have to, but I’m doing it anyway,” Jack gathered the sheets and blankets off Mac’s bed as he talked. “Whether you like it or not.”

There was no point in arguing, Mac had learned that long ago though it didn’t stop him from trying every so often. Instead, he smiled, curling up into a ball on the chair and watching Jack move around the room with practiced ease. “Thanks, Jack.”

“Any time, kid,” Jack answered, throwing Mac a blanket without bothering to turn around and look at him. He could tell without needing to check that the younger man was starting to get cold while waiting on him to finish making up his bed. “Any time.”


	23. What's A Whumpee Gotta Do To Get Some Sleep Around Here?

Mac isn't asleep when Jack cracks his door open, but he doesn't move. Doesn't do anything to alert his partner that he is awake. Maybe, he thinks stubbornly, if Jack thinks he's resting, he won't even try to wake him up and they won't have to go. 

His hopes are dashed when Jack crosses his room, already dressed an in his boots-if the sound of footsteps against floorboards is anything to go by-and comes to a stop beside his bed. "I don't know who you think you're foolin' over here," His voice breaks through the silence of the early morning and Mac has to fight back a wince, still trying to keep up the charade even though he has, apparently, already been made. "But I know you ain't asleep." 

A few heartbeats pass in silence, Mac carefully measuring each breath, not ready to give up the act just yet, still holding on to hope that he could maybe convince Jack that he was wrong. That he would turn around, guilty at the thought of him almost disturbing such a sound sleep, and walk back out of the room, calling Phoenix Med once he reached the safe distance of the living room and canceling the appointment scheduled for a few short hours away. 

He doesn't. 

Eventually, Mac has to admit defeat, rolling over to peer up at his partner through sleepy eyes. Jack was the only person he had ever met who was able to out-stubborn himself. "What gave me away?" 

"The tension you're holdin' here, for one thing," Jack smiled, dropping down to sit on the bed beside Mac, reaching out and rubbing at the junction of Mac's neck and shoulder. "You're too stressed to be sleeping that good." 

"Maybe that means we shouldn't go?" Mac suggested. It was a last-ditch effort, and a weak one at that, but he had to try. 

"Now, where’re all these nerves comin' from?" Jack frowned. "Cause you've gone under the knife plenty of times before that haven't left you tryin' to con your way out." 

"I don't know," Mac sighed, stretching out beneath the covers before curling back up on his side, this time facing Jack. He knew he should be getting out of bed, taking a shower so they wouldn't be late, but instead, he found himself getting comfortable again. "I'm just really dreading this one."

"That arm bothering you?" Jack asked with a frown, looking over at the arm in question. It had finally recovered- for the most part- from a bad break on a mission that had gone wrong. They had been told it would take multiple surgeries to fix, not just the first one when they had finally made it back home, and the date for the last one had finally arrived. Jack had assumed that Mac would be happy to get it over with, to move on from that injury completely. Apparently, he had been wrong. "Cause that's even more of a reason to go and get it taken care of." 

"No, that's the problem," Mac admitted, raising his arm and making a fist before extending each finger. What had started out as a simple exercise his physical therapist had instructed him to do several times a day had become a bit of a habit. "It doesn't hurt. At all. And now I'm going to go and mess all that progress up." 

"You ain't messin' it up, you're fixing it," Jack corrected. "Hopefully for good this time. And then we won't have to deal with it anymore." 

"But I don't have to deal with it now," Mac complained. "It's fine. I've regained over ninety-percent of my original function back in it, it doesn't hurt. And after today I'm going to have to start back at square one and put in all that work again." He looked up at Jack, blue eyes wide. "Am I crazy for not wanting to have to go through that all again? When it isn't bothering me?" 

"No, buddy," Jack couldn't resist reaching a hand up to card through Mac's sleep-mussed hair. "No, you're not crazy. But just 'cause it isn't hurting you now doesn't mean it isn't going to later. And wouldn't it be a better idea to take care of it now, in a controlled, planned, situation, instead of it going out on you in the middle of a mission or something? Cause then you'd still have to do this, but might have to wait until a spot opened up. And then you'd be left hurting and I really don't want to watch you go through that if we can avoid it." 

"I know," Mac agreed. "I just-" 

"Don't want to," Jack finished for him with a sympathetic grin. "Thought you said you didn't know why you were nervous? That seems like a pretty thought out answer to me."

"It's weird, going into this knowing that I'm going to come out of it feeling worse," Mac admitted. "I'm usually able to not stress because I know it's fixing a problem. And this one is too, it just doesn't feel like it. It's hard to convince myself that it's worth it. That I'm making the right call." 

"But you're gonna. Cause you are. So you might as well get on up outta bed and get this show on the road, hoss." 

"I really am comfy," Mac tried, still not entirely giving up on convincing Jack to let him out of this one, burrowing further under the covers. "You're seriously going to make me move?" 

"Yup I am," Jack confirmed, patting Mac's knee before standing up. "Go hop in the shower, I'll be in the kitchen, definitely not chowing down on a couple of those muffins Bozer made yesterday while you're not there to guilt-trip me into starving before this surgery with you." 

"And what if I don't?" Mac asked. He was joking. Mostly. Testing to see how far Jack would go. 

"You're really gonna play the whole angsty teenager card on this one?" Jack laughed, shaking his head fondly. "Just cause you look the part don't mean it's gonna work. Not with me. Up." 

"Or what? You gonna drag me there yourself?" 

"You bet your ass I will," Jack didn't bother turning around. "Shower, dressed, in the kitchen in ten minutes." 

He did pause at the doorway to Mac's bedroom when he didn't hear Mac climbing out of bed behind him. "I know you're nervous," He said gently, all traces of his earlier teasing long gone. "And I get it. You're allowed to be, nothin’ wrong with that. But you're gonna be fine, you know that, right? And that's why I'm making you go?" 

"I know," Mac sighed, giving in and throwing off his blankets. " And it's not like I'm going it alone, you'll be there." 

"The whole time," Jack agreed. "Well, the parts you're awake for, at least." 

"I still hate this," Mac warned, face twisting into a grimace as his bare feet connected with the cold hardwood floor beneath them. 

"And you're more than welcome to pick up the angsty teenage thing once it's over and we're back home," Jack offered, tossing a grin over his shoulder as he made his way into the hall. "At least then you'll be flyin' high on some good meds, makin' you all adorable when you're complainin' about it. Though, now that I think about it, that always leaves you a little more like a cute little toddler, so maybe you better go ahead and get all the annoying stuff out of the way now." 

The pillow Mac threw Jack's way missed him by a mile, but he hadn't actually intended for it to hit him. It did its job though and got his point across. He could still hear Jack's laughter coming from the kitchen as he started up the shower.


	24. You're Not Making Any Sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda stretching the prompt for this one, but Mac temporarily loses one of his senses, so I'm saying it counts.

Jack's back was turned when Mac was hit. He didn't see it happen, only knew something had gone wrong when he heard Mac’s pained scream echo through the room of the warehouse. He spun around in an instant, though it didn't seem fast enough, his attention torn between the fleeing bad guy and his hurting partner. It wasn't even a question of which took his focus, firing a few half-hearted rounds towards the navy blue jacket retreating out the doorway and around the nearest corner, mainly just so he could say that he had tried when the question inevitably came in in debrief, before he turned to Mac, who had his hands braced against his knees, coughing and sputtering. He looked up, barely able to squint through already swollen eyes, searching for Jack. He winced in sympathy as he saw the already forming burn splashed across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, red eyes slamming tightly shut against the pain, as he realized what had happened.

“No, no, no,” He jogged the few steps between them, fanning through the haze of acrid smoke and swallowing down a cough of his own as he reached his partner just in time to stop curious hands from reaching up to explore the damage. “Don’t touch it, bud. No need to go gettin’ your hands all burnt up too. Been there, done that, right? And it ain’t fun?” He pulled Mac’s hands back down to his sides, feeling the slight tremors of pain running through them, keeping a tight grip on one. "Keep those eyes closed and hold your breath, don't breathe in any more than you already have. Just lean on me, I'll get us outta here. Get some fresh air." 

Mac nodded, latching his free hand onto the hem of Jack’s shirt as he let Jack lead him out of the room, sucking in air as soon as they were out in the hallway. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was far from good quality, he remembered wrinkling his nose at the dust as they broke into the long-abandoned warehouse earlier in the day, but it was significantly better than the burning, choking fog that had filled the small room as soon as the man they were chasing had pulled the can out of his pocket. “Hurts,” He panted, his grip on Jack's shirt fumbled as he gasped in pain when he tried to pry his eyes open again at the sound of Jack slamming the door to the room closed behind them.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure it does,” Jack agreed, taking Mac’s chin in his hand and turning his face towards the light, trying to get a better view of the damage. “Catch your breath and keep those eyes closed. No point in lettin' any more of whatever that was in than we have to. You see exactly what it was he hit you with?”

Mac shook his head, trying to search back in his memories of the moment that had happened in a sliver of a second. “Can of something. Think he dropped it, pretty sure I heard it hit the floor.”

“Okay, you stay right here,” Jack instructed, a comforting hand dropping on each of Mac’s shoulders. “I’ll find it, see what we’re dealin’ with, then we can figure out how to fix it.”

“Okay,” Mac agreed shakily before realizing that the plan he had just agreed to would involve him letting go of Jack, leaving him blinded and hurting in a huge building he didn’t know. His mind started spinning, trying to remember the layout of the old warehouse, the distance of the pile of boxes stacked near the doorway on the right side of the hall and which corner he had seen the mop bucket with the broken wheel.

Jack noticed the problem almost as quickly as Mac had. “Here,” He led him carefully backward until Mac’s shoulderblades bumped against the wall behind. “Just hang out here. You’re good, won’t be outta my sight for more than a minute, okay? I’ll be right in there.”

Not trusting his voice, Mac nodded and pried his fingers free from Jack’s shirt, letting him go. 

Jack took a couple of deep breaths of uncontaminated air, pulling as much into his lungs as he could before pulling the collar of his t-shirt up over his mouth and nose and heading back into the room, squinting as the stagnant air pricked at his eyes while he scanned the dusty floor, searching for the offending canister. He finally found it, discarded against a stack of shipping pallets. Snagging it off the ground, Jack struggled to peer at the label as he exited the room, returning to Mac's side. "Good news? Straight up, old fashioned pepper spray," he announced, pulling his shirt up to wipe away the tears he could feel leaking out of his eyes with the inside fabric, knowing better than wiping the outside of his shirt against his skin. "Bad news? It's the good quality stuff. Expensive. Strong." He recognized the can once he was able to get a better look at it, it was the same brand he had bought and insisted Riley keep in her bag before she had gone on her first date. "And it looks like you got a real up close and personal dose of it." 

"It burns," Mac rasped out, voice hoarse from the choking coughs. "Need to rinse it off," 

"I know," Jack offered a sympathetic hand against his neck, grounding through the pain. "But even if I could scrounge us up some clean water in this dump, and that's a big ol' if, it's gonna take more than that to cut through the oils and that's what's hurting so bad." 

"I think there's some dish soap left in the car," Mac sighed, regretting how far away they had parked. "From when I used it to make deicer. That should work." 

"Yeah, that'll do it," Jack agreed. "And we've got a whole cooler of water bottles in the trunk. Now we just gotta get you there." 

"This is so much worse than the OC training in Basic," Mac groaned leaning into Jack's hand and wanting nothing more than to bury his face into the older man's chest, to try and hide from the pain, but the thought of anything, even the soft, familiar fabric of Jack's shirt against the burning skin of his face was enough to qualm that thought. "And that sucked." 

"Yeah it did," Jack agreed, sliding his hand around and running his fingers through the sweaty hair curling at the nape of Mac's neck. That particular exercise was the most dreaded part of Basic for any recruit and even he had to admit that it was awful. The fact that the pain Mac was in now was worse than that left Jack worried. "But that was a controlled dose from four feet away. Not someone actually tryin' to hurt you, all up in your grill. Hey, at least nobody's askin' you to run an obstacle course this time, though." 

"Kinda are," Mac argued, stubborn as ever, even when he was miserable. "Not exactly going to be easy, walking back to the car like this." 

"Don't you worry about that," Jack assured, reaching down and grabbing Mac's hand. "Just hang on to me. Quick little trust exercise, those are always fun, right?" I'll get you there in one piece." 

It was an arduous process, leading Mac through narrow hallways and vast open spaces of machine rooms as they retraced their footsteps and made their way out of the warehouse. His boot stumbled crossing the doorway leading outside and Jack caught him instantly, biting back a grin as the younger man began muttering about "Damn, mace," 

"C'mon now," Jack teased, not willing to pass up a perfect opportunity to get Mac started on science talk to keep him out of his head. "I told you, pepper spray, dude. Not mace. There's a difference, I'm sure of it, just can't remember what it is." 

Mac knew exactly what Jack was doing, intentionally prompting him into a lecture that he didn't care about, but he went along with it, rambling about capsicum and MC percentages, wondering if it was cold enough outside for his voice to turn into little puffs of fog from the air around him until he felt Jack relax, just marginally, next to him and he knew they had made it back to the car. 

"Alright, sit down here," Jack instructed, pulling the door to the back seat open with one hand and arranging Mac sideways on the seat, boots still on the ground. "I'll go see what I can find." 

Mac rubbed at his aching chest, feeling the sting of each breath he pulled in, a residual effect of the fumes that, while not nearly as painful as the burning in his eyes, was far from pleasant. By the time Jack returned, one arm carrying the cooler of water bottles and protein bars Phoenix kept stocked in all their vehicles, a half-used bottle of dishwashing liquid and an old bandana he had found in the trunk in the other, Mac had shrugged out of his jacket and pulled his shirts up over his shoulders, keeping them hanging around his neck. 

"Interesting fashion choice, hoss," Jack paused, head tilted in confusion. "It's cool enough out here for a scarf, sure, but I think keeping your damn clothes on would have been more useful?" 

"To keep the runoff contained," Mac explained. "When you start rinsing it off. My face is already burned, no point in letting it spread down my chest and arms too." 

"Oh," Jack nodded. It was a practical idea, but it was far from warm, sitting balanced in the opened doorway of the car and Mac was already beginning to shiver. In any other situation, Jack would have cranked the heat up, ignoring the potential risk of draining the car's battery in favor of keeping Mac comfortable but he was fairly sure the last thing Mac needed was more heat added to his burns. For the time being, the cold probably was more of a relief than it was a discomfort. "Yeah, good plan." 

Jack cracked the seal on a water bottle, pocketing the lid and placing it carefully in Mac's hand. "Start drinkin' that, your throat'll thank me," The sound of water hitting the solid ground as Jack emptied part of a bottle, making room to add the soap and shake it up, caused Mac to jump. "Easy, just me," he soothed, crouching to a kneel in front of Mac. "Alright, gonna start rinsin' this mess off, okay? I don't think it'll hurt or anything, just cold, but if you need a break or somethin' you let me know." 

Mac nodded, pushing past the nausea he hadn't bothered to mention and slowly began draining the water bottle in his hand as Jack began, starting at Mac's forehead, brushing aside stray strands of hair, and working his way down his partner's face, slowly wiping away traces of the oil, determined to cling to flushed skin. It wasn't a long process, there was only so much relief that could come from simply removing the problem, the damage had already been caused, but Jack was nothing if not thorough, paying extra attention to Mac's eyes, carefully wiping down the corners and lashes as best he could without letting the soap get inside and doing even more damage. "Think that's about as good as I can get it," He sighed, feeling like he should have done more as he slowly poured a full bottle of fresh water over Mac's face, glad Mac had thought ahead and left his shirts on to catch the worst of the runoff as the last traces of bubbles were rinsed away. 

"It's better," Mac assured, pulling in a breath, steadier than Jack had heard since things had gone south. His voice was still raspy, damaged from the burning air he had inhaled, but there wasn't much more he could do to fix it. "Still burns, but that helped. Thanks."

"Naw, don't mention it," Jack tossed the soap-filled bottle into the floorboard of the car, brushing off Mac's thanks. "Hardly nothin'. 'Sides, we ain't done yet. Think you can open those eyes for me?" 

The groan Mac didn't even attempt to hide was answer enough to just how much he disliked that idea, but he put it into words anyway. "No. They're still hurting like crazy. And opening them only makes it worse." 

"Wasn't really a request, kiddo," Jack offered up an apologetic smile even if Mac couldn't see it. "I gotta get a look at the damage sooner or later. And sooner would probably be better for everyone involved. I got as much of it off as I could, so no more should get in when you open them. Shouldn't be as bad as trying earlier was." 

"Still gonna hurt," Mac sighed, twisting his hands into the denim of his jeans, knuckles paling as he pried gritty and swollen eyelids open. "Oh, damn it, yeah, still hurts," He growled as he fought a loosing battle with his own reflexes which were screaming at him to ignore Jack's requests and stop trying to squint through the light pouring into his damaged eyes. 

"I know, bud, I'm sorry," Jack soothed, hands coming up to brace against either side of Mac's face, thumbs sweeping gently at the corners, not quite holding his lids open, not yet, just offering what little comfort and encouragement he could. "You're doin' great. Just gotta make sure you can still see my handsome mug, no serious damage to your vision. Can you look here for me? For just a minute?" 

"I see you," Mac assured, the revelation enough of a relief that it broke through the haze of pain and gave him the briefest moment of respite. "Super blurry, hurts like hell, but I can see." 

The thankful sigh Jack let break at that news was the only indication that he had ever been worried in the first place, that his calm, cool, and collected reassurances and easy words had all been a front for what had been sheer panic bubbling just beneath the surface. "Oh thank goodness. Okay, I know you're gonna hate it, but I need to rinse those not-so-pretty-at-the-moment eyes out. See if we can turn 'em back to blue. They're all red at the moment. Hey, shouldn't those cancel each other out? Turn 'em a cool shade of purple? Red and blue do that, right? Primary colors? Yeah, that's totally a thing I remember from kindergarten." 

"Not exactly how that works," Mac attempted a glare, though it lost most of its power since his eyes were barely open to begin with. "But decent try on the distraction front." 

"I work with what I'm given," Jack shrugged with a smile. "I was serious though, pal. Gotta get those eyes washed out. You'll be glad we did once it's over." 

"Yeah," Mac agreed with a huff, knowing Jack was right. "How are we gonna do this?" 

"Don't you worry," Jack assured, "I've already been thinkin' about that one. Crawl on in the car there and lay down, turned around so you're head's facin' me. Hang over the edge of the seat and I can get those peepers rinsed out without dumping a ton of freezing cold water all down you or making a huge mess."

Not seeing a better option, Mac complied, shifting and turning in the cramped back seat of the car until he was laying down with his head hanging out of the open car door, long legs bent to fold himself into the space given. His face scrunched up in displeasure as he got his first upside-down view of Jack smiling at him. "This is weird."

"You do look a little bit like a monkey," Jack teased, "Hangin' around there all upside down. A nerdy, splotchy, squinty red one though."

"Can we get on with this?" Mac was tired and hurting and ready to put the entire day's events behind him. And he was starting to really feel the chill in the air and wasn't looking forward to being doused with even more cold water. 

"Yeah," Jack agreed, unable to stop himself from reaching out and running a fond hand through the mess of Mac's hair that was fanned out beneath him. "You didn't happen to steal a shower cap from the last motel we crashed in, did ya? Thinkin' you could turn it into a parachute or something? That would come in handy right about now, keeping this mane of yours dry."

"Nope, fresh out," Against his will, Mac felt the corners of his lips tilt upwards in a smirk. "We'll have to remember that brilliant idea for next time."

"You know, if this was a little bit longer we could tie it back. Get you a little man-bun action going," Jack continued, combing through Mac's hair as he spoke. "A Mac-bun, if you will. Then it wouldn't get all soaked."

"Quit stalling, Jack. Just do it," Mac sighed, peeling open eyes that had fallen closed automatically beneath the familiar motion of Jack's hand in his hair. "Get it over with so we can get back on the road. Or did you forget that we were supposed to be tracking a wanted criminal? Instead of letting him get away so we can improv a decon shower in the freezing cold?"

"Least of my worries," Jack brushed off the mission. His priority was Mac, and everything else faded into the background when his kid needed him. "I'd like to say this won't hurt either," Jack offered a sympathetic grimace as he cracked the seal on another water bottle. "But this part's probably gonna suck. At least at first." He steeled his heart against Mac's gasps of pain as he began pouring a steady stream of water, holding furiously blinking eyelids open as they tried to snap closed against the onslaught of pain, shifting sideways and ignoring the twinge of pain in his back as he reached to brace an elbow against Mac's chest, keeping him still. It only took a moment, but to Jack it felt like forever before Mac stopped struggling, before the water stopped burning like something much more dangerous and he gave in.

"Almost done, kiddo," Jack soothed, risking pulling his hands away long enough to twist open another bottle, leaving Mac blinking away streams of water. "Lemme get another one poured out here and we'll call it good enough. You alright?"

"Doesn't hurt as much," Mac took a steadying breath, surprised that it wasn't a lie. It still hurt, a deep grating sting that pulsed with every heartbeat, but it had become bearable once Jack had flushed the worst of the oils away. "Little cold though." 

"Yeah," Jack agreed, glancing up at the darkening sky that was promising snow, "We're almost done. One more and then we'll get out of here before you turn into a popsicle." 

He tried his best to keep his eyes from slipping closed against the last bottle of water as Jack began to pour it over him, shivering as the pain subsided enough that layer of sweat that had broken out across himself made him even colder. 

"Alright, that's as good as it's gonna get," Jack sighed, sitting back on his heels and wiping the worst of the water dripping down Mac's face off with the tangle of shirts hanging from his neck. "Go ahead and sit up, I'll clean everything up here, grab you a dry shirt out of your bag." 

Faster than Mac would have thought possible, A dry henley landed in his lap and he looked up in time to see a t-shirt fall on top of his soaked head. 

"Didn't have a towel," Jack explained with a smirk, leaning down and ruffling through Mac's hair, trying to sop up as much of the water as he could. "Need a hand getting that on?" He nodded towards the waffle knit shirt in Mac's hands. 

"Nah, I can get it," Mac reached up to try and comb his hair back into order with shaking hands. 

"I'll go crank the heat then," As much as he didn't want to, Jack recognized the hidden request for a moment of privacy and walked away, taking his time walking the long way around the car and double-checking that the trunk was latched before finding his way to the driver’s seat, giving Mac a chance to get his bearings. By the time warm air was pouring out of the vents on the dash, Mac had switched seats, plopping down into the passenger side and holding his hands closer to the stream of heat with a relieved sigh.

"Too warm?" Jack asked, trying to keep his expression neutral as he looked over and saw the splash of the burn across the upper half of Mac's face, reddened skin in stark contrast against his already pale partner and the white shirt wasn't helping. "I can turn it down if it's makin' those burns hurt worse." 

"It's okay," Mac assured, snapping his seat belt into place and settling back into the cushions of the seat. "For now, at least. Till I get warmed back up." 

"For a Cali boy, you sure do run cold," Jack began his tried and true practice of starting a pointless conversation, giving Mac's brain something familiar and safe to latch onto as he slid his sunglasses on with one hand and began backing out of the improvised parking spot they had stopped in what felt like had been hours ago, despite what his watch was telling him. "Takin' an impromptu shower out in the cold didn't do you any favors in that department, that's for sure." 

"Worth it, helped," Mac insisted, flipping the sun-visor on his side down, though it didn't do much to keep the sunlight from making the burn in his eyes worse. 

It was a move Jack was sure he wasn't supposed to notice, but he wouldn't be very good at his job if he hadn't. "Light botherin' you?" He asked, giving Mac a chance to admit to it for himself before calling him out on it. 

"A little," Mac admitted with a sigh. "I'm okay though." 

"No you ain't," Jack grumbled. He already felt like he had failed, letting Mac get hurt in the first place, and the patch-up process had been a miserable one. He wasn't going to sit by and watch him suffer for the rest of the drive, not if there was something he could do to help. "Here," He rolled to a halt at the next stop sign, one he usually would have blown through without pause since they were the only car on the sleepy two-lane road. Pulling the familiar yellow sunglasses off his own face, Jack turned in his seat just enough to be able to carefully slip them into place on Mac's. "Don't look quite as good on you as they do me," He teased, resting a hand against the side of Mac's neck, thumb brushing at the tension locked in Mac's jaw. "But they'll do their job."

He was going to protest, but the sunlight was softer, diffused by the yellow lenses, and he had learned long ago that there was no point in refusing help when Jack offered it. "Thanks." 

"Don't mention it," Jack shrugged the gratitude off with a wave of his hand, eyes focusing back on the road. "You really sure you're good to keep goin' on this one? We can call it in, no big deal. Have Matty send another team out to finish up?" 

"I'll be okay," Mac assured. "There's not really anything else to do that can help, might as well finish up the job that caused it while I ride it out." 

Jack didn't like that answer, but he knew he would have done the same thing, so he ignored the protests hovering on his lips and continued down the road. "If that changes and you decide it's too much, or if it gets any worse, you have to tell me, okay?" 

"I will," Mac promised, squinting through his borrowed sunglasses as he scanned the woods lining the side of the road for the man they were tracking. "But I'll be fine. You've got my back." 

"Always."


	25. I Think I'll Just Collapse Here, Thanks

There was never, in Mac's experience, an ideal time for infection to set in. Thirty-five thousand feet in the air though, he decided, was at the top of the list for bad times.

He knew the moment he woke up, that what Jack had said would be their worst-case scenario, had come true. He hesitantly lifted a hand to his face, pressing the underside of his wrist against his forehead despite all the times he had argued with his partner about how that wasn't an effective way to check someone's temperature. His face felt warm, even to his own hand, and the longer he was awake the deeper his headache seemed to pound. He was chilled, despite the warm blanket he had pretended to sleep through Jack draping across him.

With a sigh, Mac shifted, carefully lowering his leg off the stack of pillows Jack had arranged it on before the plane's wheels were even off the tarmac, and lowered it to the floor with a wince. No point in putting off the inevitable.

He had barely risen to standing before Jack's eyes were focused on him with a frown. He held up a hand, protesting the lecture he could feel forming. Jack still couldn't stop himself from gently scolding the movement. "You need to stay off that leg, hoss. It was one thing when we were runnin' through the jungle, but you're supposed to be resting now. I didn't put those thirty stitches in just so you could pop 'em meandering around the jet you've already seen a million times. Nothin' new left to explore, go lay back down."

"Tired of laying down," Mac lied, ignoring Jack's instructions and limping closer, eyes focusing in on his target of the seat next to Jack's. "And it was only nineteen stitches. Besides, um, think we might have a little bit of a problem."

"And what would that be?" Jack's eyes narrowed, frown lines deepening as he took in what Mac could only assume was the beginnings of a flush on his cheeks, seeing the issue but waiting to comment, giving Mac a chance to admit it on his own first.

"I think I might have spiked a fever," Mac admitted with a sigh, reaching a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. "Not that we didn't see this coming, but..."

"Alright," Jack nodded, tongue slipping out to wet his lips before he pressed them into a tense line and patting the seat next to him. "C'mere. Let me get a look atcha."

"It's not bad," Mac offered in consolation, trying his best to keep his head still and not give in to the instinct to lean into the comforting hands as one came up to cup his cheek while the other rested against his forehead. "Not yet, at least."

"Yeah, but you are runnin' a little warm," Jack sighed. "How long you been feelin' bad?"

"Since I got stabbed in the leg?" Mac offered up a joke, though it fell flat to his own ears.

Jack sent him a warning glare that sent him backpedaling.

"Not long at all," Mac promised, proud that he could give that as an answer truthfully. "Woke up and thought maybe. Figured I better let you know."

"Those years of preaching about that finally startin' to stick?" Jack teased, though the smile that went along with the joke didn't quite reach his eyes.

Mac forced a grin of his own and it must have been just as unauthentic as Jack's because the older man's smile grew sad. "I'm sorry, kiddo."

"It's okay," Mac assured, leaning back into his seat and stretching his injured leg out in front of him. "We knew this was likely to happen. There's a reason it's not recommended to stitch up a wound in the middle of running for your life in the jungle."

"Still, I shoulda tried harder to find somethin' to clean it out with. Or to wash my hands, at the very least."

"Hey," Mac leaned over, bumping his shoulder against Jack's. "Remember those guys chasing us that we were just talking about? They weren't exactly willing to let us take a pit stop. You did what you had to do to make sure I could keep going. It wasn't a plan I'd exactly like to repeat, but it worked. It held together long enough to get us to exfil."

"Yeah but it held in all kinds of nasty germs, too." Jack scoffed. "Germs that are makin' you sick now."

"This was going to end with a medical visit either way," Mac reminded him gently, pulling up his pants leg to reveal the stark white bandage. Jack had insisted on replacing the original one, marred with grimy fingerprints and the shadow of a bloodstain, when they finally made it to the plane and its well-stocked first aid kit. "Stab wounds usually do. So we're adding a round of antibiotics to the menu now too. Just think of it as making sure the med team is earning their keep today."

"Ain't it supposed to be me makin' the jokes about this?" Jack asked. "Tryin' to make you feel better? You're the one hurting now, remember?"

"But you're the one feeling guilty and blaming yourself for it," Mac shrugged. "Even though it's not your fault. You didn't do anything I wouldn't have done if the roles had been reversed."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Jack shook his head with a wry smirk. "You probably woulda thought of some way to whip up some medical-grade hand sanitizer out of tree bark and whatever that fruit was you wouldn't let me eat back there."

"I don't think that's possible," Mac laughed. "I would have needed some form of alcohol. Though it wouldn't have been too hard to find some aloe... But seriously, man, don't beat yourself up about this, okay? You did what you had to do and we made it out alive because of it."

"You're really not mad?" Jack asked, turning big brown eyes shining with guilt Mac's way.

"Not even a little," Mac assured with a smile. "There's no one I trust more, you know that."

"I still hate that you're gonna be even more miserable," Jack sighed. "As if the stab wound wasn't enough. And how'd you manage to get stabbed there anyway? Talk about a lucky hit! Well, for him at least. What was your calf doin' that close to his knife?"

"I was trying to kick it out of his hand," Mac admitted with a grin. "Guess my aim's not as good as yours."

"Guess so," Jack agreed. "You sure you're not hurtin' too bad? Say the word and I'll pull some strings, get us landing at the first hospital we're flyin' past instead of makin' it all the way back to Phoenix."

"I'm good," Mac assured. "I'd tell you if I wasn't. I did, in fact, remember?"

"You told me you were fevered," Jack corrected, some of the tension draining from his shoulders as they fell into a typical routine of lighthearted banter. "Not that you were in pain."

"There was a knife in my leg a few hours ago, of course I'm in pain," Mac rolled his eyes. "But not bad enough to complain about it. I'll be fine till we make it home."

“Okay,” Jack agreed hesitantly, willing to trust Mac’s judgment. “But you’re gonna tell me if that changes, right?”

“Of course.”

“You wanna head back to the couch?” Jack offered.

“Nope,” Mac shook his head. “I’m good here.”

“Well, settle in then,” Jack flipped the armrest separating their seats back. “Might as well get comfy if we’re gonna be here a while.”

“Yeah,” Mac agreed, taking the invitation for what it was and shifting until his head was resting on Jack’s shoulder.

“I really am sorry, kiddo,” Jack whispered, leaning down to rest his cheek on top of Mac’s head for a moment, gauging the heat rising up through blonde hair.

“I’m not,” Mac’s voice was muffled against the worn fabric of Jack’s t-shirt. “No one I trust more. Now stop feeling guilty about it.”

"You sure there's nothin' I can do?"

"Sit there and be warm?" Mac asked with a smile, only partially joking. It was far from the first time Mac had turned his partner into his own personal furnace.

"Want me to go get a blanket?" Jack offered, not understanding that part of the comfort Mac got from drawing warmth from Jack's body heat was from the proximity, and the safety it provided, not the heat itself.

" 'm good," Mac mumbled into Jack's t-shirt, more asleep than he was awake. "Stay here."

Jack waited until he was sure Mac had entirely fallen back asleep before dropping a quick kiss to the top of his head and wrapping an arm around Mac’s shoulders, pulling him close, protecting. Doing as Mac had asked and staying.


	26. If You Thought The Head Trauma Was Bad

"You know," Jack said, not bothering to turn around as he and Mac slowly climbed the stairs leading to his apartment. "I get why you don't want Bozer to know what it is we've been doin' for a living since we made it back stateside. I get it, I do. But you can't keep lying to him like this. Throw him a bone, somethin'. He's only gonna believe this Think Tank crap for so long, dude." 

"You're just saying that because you're the one coming home with a black eye this time," Mac laughed. "And unless you come up with a good excuse for it, you're going to be missing out on his cooking for the next week." 

"Hey, maybe I got into a bar brawl last night, huh?" Jack asked, mind already reeling with ideas. "Went out for a drink, some sleazeball wouldn't keep his hands off the pretty girl next table over. I stepped in and it turned into a whole thing, they landed a good punch and I ended up sendin' five of 'em to the hospital. That sounds good, right? He'd believe that?"

"Maybe," Mac admitted. Ever since Jack had followed Mac back home to LA Bozer had been at least partially convinced that he was a real-life action star in hiding. He wasn’t entirely wrong. "But there's only so many hero stories you can spin before he starts wanting proof. Authenticity. More than that shiner you're rocking. Names, details, hell, knowing Boze? He'd want you to take him back to where it happened so he could make sure they have a framed photo of you behind the bar. And if we're staying local we've got to be careful about spinning tales that we can't back up." 

"Yeah, you're right," Jack sighed. "Guess I'll be hangin' out here for a while." 

"If it's any consolation, that mission wrapped earlier than we expected," Mac offered, adjusting his go-bag up higher on his shoulder. "So he isn't expecting me home for a few more days. You sure you don't mind letting me crash with you for a while?" 

"Nah, it gets lonely bein' stuck in that apartment by myself," Jack assured. "Be glad to have the company. Even if we will be livin' off of takeout for a while without Bozer cooking for us." 

Mac was about to make a comment about Jack finally having a chance to show off the cooking skills of his own that he was always bragging about when he stepped wrong climbing up the next step, sole of his boot landing on the untied string of the other boot and sending him toppling down the set of stairs, eventually tumbling to a stop once he reached the landing, world spinning. 

Jack was there by his side before he even had a chance to realize what had happened. 

"What the hell kid?" He exclaimed, carefully helping Mac sit upright, steady hands staying on his shoulders as Mac tried to remind himself how to breathe, waiting for his body to come back online after having the wind knocked out of him. "What happened?" 

Mac halfheartedly kicked out his leg, drawing Jack's attention to the untied shoelace, not yet having the air to explain.

"Seriously?" Jack shook his head. "You're too smart to let an untied shoe take you down. Are you okay? Other than the whole not being able to breathe yet thing?" A worried hand lifted off his shoulder to card through blonde hair and a commiserative wince crossed Jack's face as he felt an already-growing knot just above Mac's ear. 

Mac finally pulled in a rattling breath, drawing in much-needed air and clearing through some of the fog in his mind. Unfortunately, it made room for pain to take center stage. "Ow," He muttered, pulling away from the hand in his hair. "Stop it, I'm fine." 

"You're not fine," Jack argued, running his hands up and down Mac's arms, quickly checking for breaks before moving on to his legs. "You just fell down a flight of stairs. And you hit your head."

"I'm-" Mac tried again, pushing himself up to sit straighter instead of slumped against the railing where Jack had hastily propped him up but the move left his words broken off in a hiss of pain. 

"See, you ain't fine," Finding nothing wrong with his partner's legs, Jack moved back to the only injury he had been able to locate, carefully parting Mac's hair, trying to get a better view at the damage. "You ain't bleedin'. That's good, at least." 

"Jack..." 

"Though I guess that don't mean you're not bleeding internally," Jack continued, completely ignoring Mac's attempt at getting his attention. "Should probably take you in, get checked out." 

"Jack?"

"I know, I know, that's the last thing you wanna do. But we're not screwing around with that brain of yours." 

"Jack!" Mac hardly ever raised his voice, so when he did it was enough to startle Jack out of the worried spiral he had fallen into, too focused on taking care of Mac and making sure he was safe that he had tuned out the rest of the world around him. "My head's fine." He insisted once brown eyes met his blue. "Really. Calm down." 

"No it's not," Jack argued. "You're hurting. Don't try to tell me you're not, cause I can tell. I know you too good, Mac. You're hurting." 

"Yeah," Mac admitted with a wry grin. "Probably cause of this," He held up his left hand, which he had apparently landed on in the tumble he had taken if the two fingers sticking out at an unnatural angle were any proof. "Hurts way worse than my head, trust me." 

"Oh." Jack blinked, staring at Mac's outreached hand for a moment before carefully taking it in his own. "Ouch. Why didn't you say somethin' sooner?" 

"I tried," Mac's laugh was cut off as he bit his lip when Jack began inspecting his hand. "You kinda get a one-track mind when you think I'm hurt." 

"Sorry," Jack's eyes flicked back up to meet Mac's again. "You sure your head's okay? This our only problem?" 

"Yeah," Mac nodded slowly, checking. "No way I'm walking away from this without some bruises, but that's the only thing that warrants the whole overprotective hovering act you're doing." 

"Think you're up to standing?" 

"Yeah, of course," Mac nodded, reaching out his uninjured hand and letting Jack help him stand up. "I told you, it's just my hand." 

"You're sure?" Jack asked, ducking his head to meet Mac's eyes, searching for any sign of a lie hidden there, one hand bracing Mac's elbow to keep his hand from moving, the other reaching up and coming to rest along the side of his neck. "Nothing else is bothering you?" 

"Unless you count my pride, seeing as how I just tripped on my untied shoe and fell down your stairs," Mac said, embarrassed at his own clumsiness. "No, I'm good." 

"Oh, right," Jack sprung into action, dropping back down to a crouch so he could tie Mac's boot for him, taking a few extra seconds to untie and tie back the other one as well, just to make sure they were both secure. "Okay, let's go. Back to the car, pal. DXS Infirmary awaits." 

"If this didn't suck so much it would almost be funny," Mac sighed. "We started this climb to your apartment talking about how you were going to have to hide a little bruise from Bozer and now I've got this," He held up the hand in question as they slowly began descending the stairs. "To try to talk my way out of." 

"Naw, that ain't hard to do," Jack grinned. "He knows how much of a klutz you are. We don't gotta make up a cover story for this one at all. Trust me, dude. He'll have no problem believing you tripped over your own shoelace on your way up to my apartment." 

"Yeah," Mac had to admit Jack was right, letting loose a little laugh as he looked down at the bruises already forming across the top of his hand. "You're probably right." 

"Course I am, it's me. I'm always right," Jack reached out to ruffle Mac's hair as they reached the final landing, heading back towards the parking garage they had left only moments before. "Now quit starin' at that hand before you trip again and do some more damage. We can get him to believe one for sure, but I'm not sure if Bozer would believe it happenin' twice in one day. Not sure even I would believe it if I wasn’t there to see it with my own eyes." 

"We're already on our way," Mac pressed on, goading. "Might as well add a couple more injuries to the list, really make the trip worthwhile." 

"We've only been workin' there a couple of months. I have a feeling you'll have plenty of excuses to get to check out the medical facilities, much as I'm gonna hate it. Better let some of 'em stay a surprise. Make the next time a little less boring."

"You saying there's going to be a next time?" 

"With you, kid?" Jack sighed, holding the door open for Mac, not entirely trusting him to be able to do it without injuring himself further. "Yeah, I'd be willing to bet on it."


	27. Who Had Natural Disaster On Their 2020 Bingo Card?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One final two-part chapter since we're getting closer to the end of the month! Start with this one and then head over to Jack's for the ending!

"Of all the places we've ever been sent to disarm a bomb," Jack complained as he rounded yet another corner of the cave system, shining his flashlight into the darkness and raising a hand to brush through the spider webs it felt like he had just stepped through. It didn't matter if they were actually there or not, he had decided, it felt like they were everywhere. "This has got to be the worst." 

"You were always complaining that the desert was too hot and dry," Mac reminded him with a wry smile. "And this is about as opposite of that as you can get." 

"Don't make it any better," Jack grumbled. "Who the hell plants a bomb in a cave, anyway?" 

"The arms dealers who stored their merchandise here, apparently. Just be glad we got it taken care of before it blew." 

"Not without payin' the price for it," Jack turned back to look at Mac, flashlight beam focusing in on the improvised sling he had rigged for his arm. "Can't believe that guy broke your arm. I thought this place was supposed to be empty?" 

"Guess we got some bad intel," Mac shrugged his good shoulder. "Besides, I think the bullet you left him with back there was payback enough. Let's just get out of here before someone else comes along. If they left one guard they probably have a schedule to switch shifts and I'd rather not run into his replacement down here." 

"Somethin' about this still isn't sitting right with me," Jack shook his head, warily looking around the cavern. "I got a bad-" 

"Don't." Mac cut him off. "Don't say it. Because once you say it, it always happens. It's fine. We're done, we're on our way out. Don't go jinxing it now." 

"I'm just saying," Jack continued as if Mac hadn't spoken. "This place doesn't seem safe. Who’s to say this isn't all gonna come tumbling in on us while we're in here?" 

"This cave structure has been here for thousands of years, if not longer. That river we crossed on our way into town? That's what made this. Flowed over the rocks for years and years until it made its own path through. Until humans interfered and changed the flow of the water by building a dam. It's perfectly safe." 

"Yeah, until that dam breaks and it all comes rushin' back in here." 

"If anything, I'm more concerned about the structural integrity of the roof," Mac admitted, shining his own light up at the rocks overhead, glistening with moisture. These guys didn't seem too concerned about following the whole leave no trace behind thing. We'd have some warning if there was a flash flood, as close to the exit as we are, not with a cave-in though." 

"Oh sure, and I was the one who was gonna jinx it," Jack muttered with an eye roll. "Can we just get out of here? I wanna look at that arm of yours with somethin' other than a flashlight." 

"Pretty sure it won't look any better the more light you get on it," Mac said, but Jack stopped him with a raised hand. Mac froze instantly, talk of his broken arm long forgotten. 

"You hear that?" 

"Um, no?" 

"Shh," Jack stepped forward, instinctively putting himself between Mac and whatever it was he was hearing. 'I don't think we're alone in here." 

No sooner had the ominous words been spoken, the crack of a gunshot echoed through the caverns, the sound bouncing off the stone walls and reverberating across every surface until they couldn't tell where it was coming from. 

"Told you," Jack hissed, pushing Mac to drop to a crouch, a protective hand landing on his shoulder for the briefest of moments before Jack pulled his own gun. 

"Be careful shooting down here," Mac warned. "Unless you know gave a clear shot and know you can hit him, don't try it. One stray bullet hitting just the right spot and this whole thing can come down on top of us." 

Incredulous brown eyes turned back to him. "I thought you said it was safe!" 

"It is. It's just not... designed for a firefight." 

"Damn it, Mac," Jack growled. 

"I'm not saying don't shoot him," Mac corrected, flinching and ducking on instinct as another bullet came their way, bouncing off the ceiling. "But don't do that." 

"If he brings this damn cave down on top of us," Jack warned, risking a careful glance around the corner providing their cover before quickly ducking back into safety. "I'm going to be hella pissed." 

"More likely than not you and me both will be hella dead, so it won't matter," Mac corrected. 

"Don't. Don't even say that. You already jinxed this, don't need you adding any more helpful commentary, thanks," Another quick glance around the corner left Jack muttering curses under his breath, unable to get a clear shot. "How's that arm? We still good?" 

"Sling's holding," There wasn't much light to see the arm in question, but he made a fist and winced. "Still feels just as broken as it did before." 

"I asked if it was okay, genius, didn't tell you to move it." 

"Shouldn't you be trying to take out the other guy with the gun? Instead of worrying about me and my broken arm?" 

"You told me not to shoot in here!" 

Another shot ricocheted, closer this time, striking the roof and sending rock fragments raining down around them. 

"Clearly he's not listening," Mac sighed. They were running low on options. "If he keeps firing this whole thing could come down. I say we make a run for it." 

"Where, Mac? Run towards the guy shooting at us?" 

"Yeah, I guess so!" There was a moment of Mac forgetting about the pain of his broken arm, the stressful situation overriding his pain receptors, and he went to reach up and run a hand through his hair, biting back a yelp of pain. "Best case scenario, you get a clear shot in while we're running. Worst case-" 

"Worst case he shoots us?" 

"I was gonna say the roof caves in, but yeah, that'd be bad too." 

Jack growled, annoyed with the entire situation but not having a better idea. "You know we're probably both gonna die here, right?" 

"Just go," Mac pushed the hand still holding his flashlight between Jack's shoulder blades, prompting him forward. 

"No way, hoss," Jack shook his head, standing his ground. "You go first. If this thing comes crashin' down I at least want you closer to the exit." 

Mac didn't like it, but if that was what it took to spur Jack into movement, at least it was a plan. Each step jarred his arm painfully but he didn't give himself a chance to stop, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and the steady sound of Jack's own steps right behind him. Another shot rang out and Mac ducked, flashlight beam waving erratically as his good arm lifted on instinct to cover his head. "Jack!" 

"I'm good," Jack's voice echoed around him. "Go!" 

Mac rounded the next bend, jaw clenched, not entirely unconvinced that he wasn't going to be running straight into the barrel of a loaded gun. He never saw the gunman, but he was close, the next shot impossibly loud, leaving Mac's ears ringing as the sound went on forever, bouncing off one rock wall and onto the next. The fallout of damp rocks raining down stung the exposed skin of his face and neck as they pinged against him and he knew they were in trouble. 

"Mac, drop!" Jack screamed out and Mac responded instinctively, hitting the ground and choking back a yell as he landed on his arm. Another shot rang out, this time from behind him, Jack's gun, and there was no returning fire, the bullet hitting its target, but it was too late. The damage was done. 

He didn't have a chance to turn around and look for Jack as the ceiling started crashing in around them, years and years worth of stone shards and rock formations raining down between them. At least, he hoped the worst of the collapse was merely between them, a natural barrier triggered by unnatural sources separating the two of them. It wasn't an ideal situation, but it was much better than the haunting thought that Jack might have been too close to the collapse to avoid being buried beneath it. 

"Jack?" He yelled, pushing himself up on a single trembling elbow and shaking the dust out of his hair. "Jack!" 

There was no answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued in Jack's adjoining chapter!


	28. Such Wow, Many Normal, Very Oops

"Damn it," Mac growled, slamming the tiny pair of tweezers from his pocket knife down onto the counter with a frustrated clang. "Why can't I get it?"

"You ready to let me help yet?" Jack asked, casually turning the page on the magazine he had snagged out of the pile of mail from the day as he leaned against the sink. Close by but not quite close enough to be called out on his hovering.

"No," Jack's question sparked a new wave of determination in Mac and he picked the tool up again, tongue poking out from between his lips as he locked his focus on the sliver of wood embedded in his palm. "I'm doing this. On my own. Go back to pretending to read."

"Okay," Jack shrugged. "But you ain't gonna get it. Not by yourself when you're goin' at it one-handed. And you're stuck usin' your left hand too. Not even you can pull that off. Might as well let me help. Save us some time."

"I said I'm doing this," Mac argued, letting his annoyance motivate him and dull the pinch of pain every time he tried to dig for the splinter and came up empty. "I can't come running to you with every little injury. And this is the literal definition of a little injury. It's a splinter. I can handle it."

"Was that a joke?" Jack looked up, a single eyebrow raised. "You know, hand? Handle? Cause the splinter's in your... nevermind. You wouldn't know a good joke if it snuck up behind you and slapped you on the ass. Which, speakin' of asses, maybe we should just be thankful that the splinter ended up in your hand and not your behind. It came from the deck chair, so that's a valid threat, actually. Might need to resand 'em, put on a fresh coat of stain next day off we have, to keep that from happening. That is, of course, after your hand heals up. Which at this rate, is gonna be weeks away since you're too stubborn to let me help and keep pickin' at it. You're just making it worse by doing that."

"That whole talking to distract me thing only works when I need to be distracted," Mac took a breath to steady his hands and tried again. "I don't need a distraction, I'm not trying to come up with a plan or need to think my way out of a problem. I just need this out. And you can't do everything for me. I'm not helpless."

"Nobody said you were," Jack tossed the magazine back into the pile of mail and stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and the young man on the other side of the counter in one stride. "But you're gonna be here all day if you don't let me help you." The closer proximity gave him a better view of Mac's hand and he winced, the past half hour of failed attempts had left the skin around the splinter angry and red. "Yeah, I'm not watchin' this anymore. You're hurting yourself by being so stubborn. Game's over, let me see it."

With a defeated huff blowing the hair off his forehead and away from his eyes, Mac finally conceded, holding his hand out across the counter and sliding the tweezers over, metal scraping against the countertop. "Fine."

"Hey, you know I'm doin' this to help you, right?" Jack asked, taking Mac's hand in his own and squeezing his fingers to get his attention. "And not to prove that you couldn't do something? Cause it ain't that you can't do it, that brain of yours would think up a way to fix it eventually, I don't doubt that. I just don't see the point in standin' here watching you hurt when I can help."

"I know," Mac sighed. "Just do it."

"Little sucker's really in there," Jack murmured, scraping his thumbnail down the skin surrounding the tiny piece of wood that had caused such a scene, pulling it tight to get a better view. "Pass me that knife of yours?"

"Um," Mac reached out to hand the knife over automatically, but then his brain processed the request and he hesitated. "Seriously? And you were complaining that I was making it worse? You cutting it out doesn't exactly sound like a better plan."

"I ain't gonna hurt ya," Jack assured, holding out his free hand for the knife. "Well, that's not quite true, cause it probably will hurt just a little, but I'm not planning on slicing your hand open, buddy. Trust me?"

And because he did, implicitly, Mac placed the knife in Jack's outreached palm and tried not to flinch in anticipatory nervousness as Jack flicked open the largest blade.

"I got you," Jack assured, meeting Mac's eyes once more before focusing all his attention on the hand in his.

Mac watched warily as Jack nudged at the layers of skin over the splinter with the knife.

"That hurt?"

"No, not really," Mac shook his head.

"See, and you were all worried," Jack teased. Once he was confident that he had enough of the surrounding skin loosened, Jack laid the blade flat, running parallel to the sliver of wood, and pressed it down with his thumb, leaving his other hand free to pick up the tweezers. He pulled the offending splinter free on the first try. "And that's all there is to it," He grinned, holding it up proudly.

"Seriously?" Mac squinted, leaning across the counter separating them to get a closer look, then pulling his hand back, raising it to eye-level to see for himself.

"Told you it was no big deal, you goof," Jack laughed, heading towards the trashcan, pausing with his hand over the lid. "You wanna keep it? Souvenir?"

"No," Mac didn't bother looking up as Jack shrugged and threw it in the trash, too busy examining his hand. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Jack grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed back towards the deck, ruffling Mac's hair on the way. "Grab you one on your way out," He called over his shoulder. "But go wash that out real good first, no tellin' what was on that knife of yours."

Mac opened his mouth to argue before deciding against it, realizing that Jack was right and he couldn't actually remember the last time he had sanitized the blade Jack had just used.

On his way to the bathroom, he heard Jack call from the deck. "But stay out of those chairs, I was serious 'bout that. Me bein' a pain in your ass is only funny when it's happenin' metaphorically. We don't need a sequel of today's event happening in a more private place."


	29. I Think I Need A Doctor

They were supposed to be done.

That was all Jack kept thinking when Matty called them on the plane. They had all groaned, knowing what it meant before Riley had finally answered: Another mission. And they didn't even get a chance to rest before shipping out, the plane was rerouted as soon as the call had ended. It would mark the start of their fourth, or maybe fifth, back-to-back mission without a break. Jack had lost count. All he knew was it was inching close to being a sold two weeks since the last time any of them had gotten a chance to sleep in their own beds and they were all dragging because of it. Fitful naps on the plane and three nights spent in three different hotel rooms weren't enough. But it was their job, and somebody had to save the world, so they agreed.

There was a perpetual frown that had taken up residency on Mac's forehead ever since they had boarded. It seemed to have gotten worse since the news that they weren't, in fact, on their way home for some much deserved rest, but Jack couldn't blame the kid. None of them were too happy about it. The rubbing at his eyes when he pushed himself to sit up on the couch he had sprawled across though, that was new. "Mac?" He asked, shoving the blanket off his shoulders as he tried to shake himself a little more awake. He usually reserved the stuff strictly for hospital waiting rooms, but he was seriously eyeing the coffee maker at the back of the plane. "You okay, buddy?"

Mac nodded , frown growing as he did so and Jack didn't quite believe him. 

He hauled himself up with a huff, crossing the short distance between his seat and Mac in a few strides. "Talk to me, Mac. What's up?" 

"I... I don't know," Mac admitted, red-rimmed eyes peering up at Jack. 

It was enough to raise Jack's worry up another several notches and he sat down on the couch next to Mac. "What's wrong?" 

"Started out as a headache," Mac answered, quickly jumping in to assure Jack "Just a headache, not a migraine or anything."

"But?" 

"Not exactly dizzy, but a little lightheaded if I move too fast. And my ears are kinda ringing? Sounds don't..." A sigh as he started to doubt himself. "Don't sound right. Which, I know, that doesn't make any sense. Ignore me, it's probably nothing." 

"No, now we both know I'm not gonna do that," Jack offered a reassuring smile, dropping a hand onto Mac's shoulder. "You think there's something wrong, we're gonna take it seriously. Anything else?"

"My depth perception is way off," Mac admitted, looking over at Jack's hand. "When you did that? It looked like it was coming right towards my face. But everything’s kinda in a fog. I would hate to bother the doctors at Medical if it really is nothing, but..." 

"You running a fever?" Jack asked, giving Mac a chance to come clean before checking for himself, a myriad of potential venoms and poisons running through his mind as he tried to narrow down the potential options of what was harming his kid. 

"I don't think so?" Mac paused, considering, and Jack reached up to check for himself. 

"No, you're not warm. You sure you didn't get into anything on that last op?" 

"Not that I remember," Mac's frown deepened as he yawned, vision going grey around the edges at the movement and leaving him reaching a shaky hand out to latch onto Jack's shirt, needing something stable to ground him through the cabin of the jet spinning. 

Jack breathed a sigh of relief. "I think you're just exhausted, bud," he said gently, an easy smile breaking through his worried frown. 

"No more than anybody else is," Mac protested, eyes shifting from looking at Jack until they landed on Bozer and Riley who were hunched over her computer reviewing the files Matty had sent for their latest mission. 

"Those two can sleep anywhere," Jack said with a grin. "You never picked up that skill. C'mon," he patted the empty space between them. "Lay down."

"We're landing in a little over an hour," Mac protested, staring down at the couch longingly. 

"Nah, we're a solid four hours out from LA." 

"But we're not going-"

"Yeah," Jack nodded, determined. "We are. We're done. I'm callin' it. Go on to sleep, try to get some solid z's in before wheels down."

"Matty-" 

"If Matty has a problem with it, she can answer to me. She isn't here, doesn't see that we're all dragging our feet. And if she was, I'd be willing to bet she'd back my play here." Jack reached behind him, pulling out the blanket Mac had discarded as he stood up. "Get comfy. I've got some calls to make." 

As much as Mac wanted to push through it, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep his eyes open and he was too tired to argue. He gave in, curling up on his side on the sofa, not even complaining that he could do it himself when Jack covered him up with the blanket in his hands.

He was vaguely aware of a hushed voice saying "Sweet dreams, kiddo," and a familiar hand carding through his hair for a moment before he completely fell asleep, but he was too comfortable to open his eyes and see for himself, knowing Jack wouldn't go far.


	30. Now Where Did That Come From?

Jack breathed a sigh of relief when he pulled into Mac's driveway and saw the Jeep there. His kid had made it home safely, at least. Now all that was left to hope for was that he hadn't gone home and changed into his running shoes and hit the hills, trying to outrun his anxieties literally this time, but his sneakers, along with the boots Jack remembered him wearing when he saw him last a few hours earlier, were waiting there by the door. "Mac?" He called, making sure to lock the door behind him. "You in here?"

The house was quiet, but Jack walked through the living room, stooping to peer out onto the deck, before retreating back down the hallway heading towards Mac's room. The light had been left on and there was only a crack in the partially closed door connecting to the bathroom. "Mac?" He called again. The sliver of open space in the doorway was hardly enough for Jack to have an unobstructed view of what was happening inside, but it was enough for him to recognize the stark white of a first aid kit opened on the sink. "You alright?" He called, fingers hovering over the doorknob. "And before you answer, I would highly recommend you thinkin' real careful about what you’re about to say."

"I'm..." Mac sighed. "I'm okay, but probably not by your definition of the word. Might as well get in here and check for yourself."

Well trained eyes scanned the room, searching for threats before checking over the younger man leaning against the sink. No blood or injuries visible enough to be deemed life-threatening, at least not after a single pass over. Upon a second look though, he noticed the awkward angle Mac was holding his hand, close to his chest, protective and guarded. "Lemme see it"

Mac dropped his head back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before running his uninjured hand through his hair, brushing still-sweaty strands out of his eyes. "Sorry," a muscle in his jaw twitched as he eventually met Jack's eyes with a forced smirk. "Just preparing for the lecture." He turned the hand over so Jack had an unhindered view of the back of it and the bruises already forming along the last two knuckles and down the side.

Jack's eyes darkened and he bit down on his cheeks as his blood boiled. "I hope you got the name of whoever it was you were fightin'. Cause It don't matter how many hits you got in, and judging by that hand you landed a couple good ones, they're still gonna have to answer to me."

"You can punch them as much as you want," Mac assured with a laugh. "Probably used to it though. It was the heavy bag in the gym. Went down there to blow off some steam while I was waiting on you and... well, you see the results."

"Seriously," Jack shook his head, patting an empty space on the bathroom counter and giving Mac a hand up to sit there. "You did this to yourself?"

"Technically I guess you could say it was your favorite bag that did it, not me."

Jack let out a slow, measured, breath. "What happened?"

"I was stupid," Mac shook his head. "Worrying about debrief. You were in there for a while, it got in my head and I wasn't paying attention. A punch landed wrong, glanced off the side of the bag."

"Let me see the damage," Jack held out a hand expectantly and Mac placed his injured hand onto Jack's palm.

"I don't think it's that bad," Mac offered. "I was looking for a brace when you came in."

"Still a damn boxer's fracture," Jack traced careful fingers over the bruising on his partner's hand. "Which means it hurts, not to mention the fact that it's your hand, Mac. You've gotta take care of these. Make a fist for me?"

"Isn't that what got me in this situation in the first place?" Mac cracked a joke even though he knew Jack wouldn't find it very funny.

"You can deflect with humor all you want, isn't gonna change the outcome of anything. Make a fist."

Mac tried, biting his lip as the pain radiating out from his knuckles shot down his hand, the last two fingers barely curling at all no matter how hard he tried. "Yeah, that's not happening," He admitted after a moment, straightening his hand back out in Jack's easy grip, shoulders sagging.

"And that's what I was afraid of," Jack nodded. "C'mon. Let's go."

"You're really gonna make me go in?" Mac wasn't above whining, not when there was a chance he could play up his partner's guilt and get himself out of a visit to Phoenix Med. "For this? There's nothing they can do, not that we don't have here. Brace, ice, rest it for a few days, I'll be fine."

"It's your hand, Mac," Jack repeated, voice and decision unwavering. "I'm not messing around with that. Besides, this is all on you. We were literally a few floors away, both of us, when this happened. And you decided to try and handle it on your own, drive all the way back here instead of letting 'em check you out when you should've."

"I know," Mac sighed, resigning himself to a trip to the medical ward. "I'm sorry. Told you, I was stupid."

"You weren't stupid," Jack protested. "Your brain wouldn't know how to be stupid if it tried. It just gets a little too smart for its own good, that's all. You spend so long focusing on helping everyone else, it forgets to remind you to take care of you in the process."

"So you're not mad?"

"Oh, I'm plenty mad," Jack corrected. "About all of it. The fact that we had to do separate debriefs on a mission that we were together for the entire time. That those debriefs and that dumb rule left you worried. That you didn't know better than to go for the heaviest bag in the gym,” He turned around, eyebrows raised, making sure Mac was following him out of the bathroom and emphasizing his point all in on move. “When I’ve told you time and time again that those things are labeled for good reason and if you go swingin’ at one more than half your body weight you’ll end up hurting yourself. I’m mad that you thought you could handle this on your own and that you didn’t get checked over as soon as it happened. But that can all wait until I know you’re really okay.”

Mac hung his head as he followed Jack through the house, sliding back into his boots and grabbing a coat off the hook by the door because he knew from experience that Phoenix Med was always freezing.

“You know,” Jack continued as they made it to the car, pausing at the passenger side to open Mac’s door for him before circling back to his rightful position behind the wheel. “I’ve got half a mind to stop off at the first ER we come to, ‘stead of bothering everyone at Phoenix with this one. Make you wait in an uncomfortable chair for a couple of hours, deal with a medical team you don’t know, one that won’t let me go back there with you. We wouldn’t even have to come up with a cover for this one. Can be totally honest for a change and tell them that you took a bad swing at the gym. Might be nice for a change, teach you a lesson and not have to lie all at the same time.”

“You could, but you won’t,” Mac feigned assurance that Jack wouldn’t do exactly what he had been threatening to do. He was frustrated and upset that Mac was hurt, but not enough to drop Mac off at a local hospital and make him go through everything alone. Though a tiny voice in the back of his mind reminded him that if he did, he deserved it. That he had basically asked to handle it on his own when he tried to hide the injury from Jack in the first place.

Jack picked up on the trepidation in Mac’s voice instantly. “Naw, buddy,” He assured, reaching over to drop a comforting hand on Mac’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t ever dream of it. Not really. I’m just runnin’ my mouth. You know how I get when you’re hurt.”

"Almost as grouchy as you get when you're hurting," Mac shot back, masking a relieved sigh with snark.

"Hey, now, this ain't about me," Jack grinned, letting his hand fall from Mac's shoulder. "I know how to wrap my hands before I put the gloves on to keep this from happening. Not that I ever land a bad throw to begin with."

"I know how to wrap my hands," Mac rolled his eyes, turning his hand this way and that, examining the bruises. They were worse than he had first thought when he climbed into his Jeep and drove himself home, and the bathroom light hadn't made them look as severe as they did in the bright sunlight streaming through the windshield of Jack's car. It really had been a stupid move on his part, trying to hide the injury from his partner, thinking he could handle it on his own.

"I know you do," Jack continued their lighthearted argument, doing what he did best and talking to bring Mac out of his own head. "I taught you how myself. And you get your left one perfect every time. Right though? That one always ends up a little wonky, resulting in that," He nodded towards Mac's hand. "When I'm not there to fix it."

"I'm confused now, you're getting off track. Is the moral of this story to not hide injuries from you or to not go boxing without you?"

"Neither. No, wait, both," Jack frowned, head tilting to the side. "I don't know. Maybe the point is that I need to never leave your side and then we won't have to worry about it."

Mac laughed. "Yeah, maybe."

"Or that you're supposed to leave the punching to me," Jack kept going. "Maybe that's the real lesson here. Cause you don't get hurt when all you're throwin' around is ideas. Usually. Stick to what you're good at." 

"Like hiding and injury from you?" Mac teased.

"Nope, I think we can both agree, you're pretty terrible at."


	31. Today's Special:  Torture!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done!!! Last chapter for Mac, and I couldn't end this month without a visit from Murdoc, right?

Mac's alarm went off, the familiar tone sounding through the early-morning stillness of his bedroom, and he reached blindly, fumbling his way to wakefulness to grab his cellphone off the nightstand and silence it. He hated snooze buttons, refusing to use them on principle alone, no matter how badly he wanted an extra twenty minutes of sleep. The particular morning in question would have been a good time to begin though, to stretch his moment of peace a little longer because once he was awake enough to realize that he wasn't alone he was face-to-face with Murdoc. 

In Mac's defense, he didn't scream. He wanted to. It would have been anyone's first instinct to roll over and find their own personal nightmare of a stalker laying next to them, but his years of training kicked in and overrode the fear, spurring him into action instead. Murdoc laughed off the lamp Mac threw at him in haste as he scrambled out of bed, sheets falling to the floor tangled around his ankles. 

"Good morning, Angus!" Murdoc called cheerfully and the sunlight beginning to stream through the windows landed on the gun in Murdoc's hand, pointed at Mac, freezing him in his tracks. "Why don't you do us both a favor and put that phone back where you found it, hmm? Or don't," He shrugged, still lounging across Mac's bed as if he belonged there, perfectly relaxed as he shifted his gaze from Mac and to the gun in his hand. "Your choice. This is a new one, I haven't gotten a chance to break it in yet." 

Slowly, Mac placed the phone back on his nightstand. He hadn't got a chance to place a call, to at least alert Jack that something was wrong, but Murdoc wasn't taking any chances and without preamble Mac's room was echoing with the sound of a gunshot, the bullet going through the screen of his phone and into the nightstand below. "Now that that's out of the way," he smiled "We can get started." 

"What do you want?" Mac asked, eyes flitting to the door, weighing the chances of him surviving an attempt at an escape. There was always the possibility that one of his neighbors would have heard the gunshot and called the police, but they were all used to the random explosions and noises that came from living next door to him after all the years he had been living there. Most likely they wouldn't think anything of it, assuming he was working on another one of his infamous projects or had given cooking for himself another try. 

"You," Murdoc answered simply. "We're long overdue for a playdate, the two of us. Wouldn't you agree?" 

"I think I'll take a rain check, thanks." He looked to his side, at the entrance to the deck, and wondered if one of the neighbors would call for help if they heard him screaming from there or if Murdoc would shoot him before he had the chance to try it. 

"To the living room, please," Murdoc waved towards the door with his gun and Mac didn't see a way to avoid complying. "As endearing the idea of spending the day in bed with you is, that isn't on the agenda for today."

One of the chairs from around the rarely-used dining room table was sitting in the middle of the living room floor, leaving Mac to wonder just how long Murdoc had been creeping through his house while he was sleeping. A roll of duct tape waiting on the seat. 

"I decided tape would be the way to go this time," He explained as he picked it up and gently tossed it in the air, catching it on the barrel of the gun in his hand. "Have a seat, Angus." 

"You can't be trusted with locks, you see," Murdoc explained when Mac had no choice but to sit down and allow the madman to shove his hands behind him and begin winding layer after layer of tape around Mac's wrists. "Far too smart for that. We learned that the last time, didn't we?" 

"You mean when you tried to drug me and were stupid enough to put the needle where I could reach it?" Mac asked with a glare. 

Murdoc didn't find Mac's sarcasm as funny as he had hoped. "I was successful in drugging you if I'm remembering that pretty, glazed-over look of fear in your eyes correctly. And we learn from our mistakes, Angus." He finally finished taping up Mac's wrists, meeting Mac's eyes for a brief moment before moving on to repeating the process with his ankles. "At least, one of us does. I'm not sure you do, seeing as how you're still living here. In this very house. That I've taken you from... how many times now?"

"What do you want, Murdoc?" Mac asked, trying his best to keep a nonchalant tone as he tested the strength of the restraints around his wrists and found that he couldn't move his hands at all. 

"For such a smart young man you really are quite daft sometimes," Murdoc looked up at him with a predatory smirk. "Do you remember me telling you that you inspire me, Angus?" 

Until he knew what Murdoc's goal was, Mac wasn't sure how to respond. He needed more information before he decided if an answer was worth the risk of further provoking him so he stayed silent. The harsh slap to his face, jolting his head to the side, was his first indication that staying quiet had been the wrong call. 

"See, the last time I took you," Murdoc continued happily, going back to winding the dwindling roll of duct tape around Mac's ankles, securing them to the legs of the chair as if he hadn't hit him only seconds before. "I was prepared. I took a page out of your book, MacGyver, and spent days creating so many lovely little devices for us to play with. And you chose to go and ruin all our fun before we ever had a chance to begin!" 

"And you thought the best option for a second attempt was to instead bring your demented little plan to me?" Mac raised an eyebrow, hoping he was coming off at least slightly unimpressed despite the nervous chill he could feel creeping down his spine. 

"Oh no," Murdoc tacked the last of the tape in place and smiled down at his handiwork, pleased. "Because you see, Angus, you still inspire me. But you clearly didn't want to play with the toys I brought. So I thought you might have a little more fun if we played with some of your own instead." 

"You can try," Mac shrugged, looking around his living room, trying his best not to show how that revelation had eased his fears, just slightly. "But if you knew me half as well as you like to think you do, you would know that you're not going to find much in the way of torture devices here." He laughed. "I won't even let Jack leave a gun here." It wasn't an outright lie. Jack had asked, on several occasions, and Mac had, true to his word, always refused. Jack had been undeterred though and stashed a couple throughout the house-he had thought-without Mac knowing. Mac had considered moving them, or at the very least disassembling them, but the hiding places Jack had chosen were well thought out and safe, and if it made his partner feel better knowing they were there, Mac could put his own qualms aside and pretend he was none the wiser. There was actually one tucked up into the underside of the couch, just a mere two feet away from Murdoc, not that he was going to tell him that. "I mean, I guess there's always Bozer's chef knives, but going for those isn't exactly a stroke of genius." 

"If I wanted knives, MacGyver," A gloved finger trailed its way down the side of his face, slowly, leather dragging against skin, and Mac swallowed back a shudder. "I would turn that little red one on you. It was a gift from our dear Jack, right? That's actually quite poetic, him finding you, hurting, beautifully bleeding out, all from that knife. You could argue that because he's the one who gave you the knife, that all that pain technically came from his own hand. And that's certainly an idea to think about, but we'll save that one for a later date. I have other plans for us today." 

"There aren't any weapons here, so unless you plan on annoying me to death..." 

"Oh, come now, MacGyver," Murdoc scolded as he stood, trailing his hands across the tops of Mac's shoulders as he went behind him. Having him out of his line of sight did not do Mac's anxiety any favors. "You're good at improvising. That's what inspired this visit, after all. Surely you can think of something. How would one man kill another using nothing more than what we have here?" 

"There's a throw pillow on the chair over there," Mac nodded towards the armchair in the corner. "If you want to suffocate me with it. But seriously, that's about as good as you're going to find here."

"How boring," Murdoc scoffed. "Keep thinking, Angus." 

Mac flinched as a string on the guitar was plucked, the sharp sound reverberating through the room. "This, for example," Murdoc played another note. "This old guitar? A single string would make a lovely garrote." 

"Jack's going to be pissed enough that you killed me, let's do it without breaking his guitar too, okay?" 

"As wonderful as that image is," Murdoc's voice grew closer. "I don't plan on killing you just yet. We can't keep playing if you're dead." A hand closed around his throat and despite the assurance only seconds before that he wasn't going to take his life, Mac couldn't help but begin to struggle as Murdoc squeezed, his breath warm in Mac's ear. "And I wouldn't have to choke you to death, Angus. Just enough to hurt. To scare you. Leave some pretty bruises for Jack to feel guilty about." As suddenly as the hand began choking him, it stopped just as quickly, leaving Mac gasping for air.

"But if you really would rather I not dismantle Jack's guitar," Murdoc continued, heading towards the bike and various tools and parts spread out beneath it. "What about this? Since it already seems to be in a perpetual state of disrepair." 

"I've been fighting with that bike for years. If you want to put in all the work to get it running just so you can run me over with it? Be my guest." 

"Hmm..." Murdoc gripped the handlebars experimentally. "As fun as that does sound, it seems like that might take too long. Though I love the idea, Angus, I think you're getting better at this. I'll make a little not of that plan for once you get this up and running, okay?" 

Mac didn't dignify that question with a response. 

"But I think we're getting a little closer," Murdoc continued, hands hovering over the pile of tools beside the front wheel, considering, before settling on a wrench. "Like this. What do you see when you look at this, MacGyver?" 

"And people think I have daddy issues," Mac scoffed. "You're the one whose dad apparently couldn't be bothered to stick around long enough to teach him what a wrench is."

Sarcasm and verbal blows probably weren't the best idea, but it was all Mac had and he wasn't going to sit there silently. He might have gone a little too far though, hit a little too hard, because he watched as Murdoc's eyes darkened with authentic hurt before he managed to tamp it down and mask it with a cruel smile. "I thought you were more creative than that, MacGyver," He spun the wrench between his fingers as he crept closer. "That you could see the potential in an item past its intended use. You see, while you look at this and see a wrench," He stepped between Mac's chair and the coffee table, turning to sweep the clutter on the tabletop to the floor with a clatter before sitting down. "I see so... many... options." 

Mac met his gaze evenly, unimpressed. 

"There's always the original use, of course," Murdoc continued, fitting the cold metal around Mac's thumb and twisting. It wasn't enough to do any actual damage, barely scraping through the top layer of skin, but the implication was enough. "No?" He frowned. "Not creative enough? How about a baseball bat, hmm?" Without warning the wrench was pulled away from his hand and was swinging towards the side of Mac's head. It stopped only an inch away from colliding with Mac's temple, despite him trying his best to flinch away, and Murdoc cackled gleefully at finally drawing a reaction. "That's more like it!" 

Jack would come for him. 

It was the only thing Mac could draw comfort on while he sat wearing nothing but a pair of sleep pants, being tortured in his own living room. When he didn't show up for work, Jack would know something was wrong. Especially when he didn't answer his phone. He just had to hang on until then. 

"Not a fan of baseball, Angus?" Murdoc asked, clearly enjoying their little imaginary scenario game more than Mac was. "How about golf?" This time the wrench was brought upwards in a parody of a golfer's swing, stopping just beneath his chin. "No? Maybe we're in the wrong lane with sports. How about..." A pause while Murdoc examined the wrench thoughtfully, snapping his fingers when he got an idea. "How about we play doctor? Clearly that's something you would enjoy, as much time as you spend in that brilliantly convenient little Phoenix Med you special agents have access to. I think it's time to test your reflexes. This looks close enough to that little rubber hammer they use to do that, right?" 

He didn't pull back at the last second as he had done with his earlier fronts, letting the wrench slam into Mac's knee with a sickening crunch before Mac had a chance to realize what was happening, unable to contain a scream as his kneecap shattered. 

"Oh dear," Murdoc grinned, watching as Mac writhed in pain, trying to pull in a breath around the all-encompassing hurt, unable to move much while restrained to the chair. "It appears I was wrong." 

"You... think?" Mac snarled, channeling his pain into anger. "Ja-Jack's going to kill you. When he gets here." 

"Oh is Jack coming?" Murdoc clapped his hands in excitement, dropping the wrench unceremoniously to the floor, leaving a dent in the hardwood. "See, that is news to me. Because if I know the little routine you two have gotten yourselves into-and I do know it, MacGyver, very well-today is the day our dear Jack lets you brave the big bad world outside the safety of his protection and drive yourself in to work. Something about the lab I have yet to receive access to and experiments that bore him to no end?" 

He wasn't wrong, Mac and Jill had been working on an alternative to Kevlar, one Mac might actually consider wearing when they went on ops, and as thrilled as Jack had been about the project, the chemistry and seemingly endless run of small-scale trials weren't nearly as exciting as Jack had wanted them to be. The lab was reserved for them to stay late working on it one day a week and after two times of Jack being bored out of his mind but unable to leave since he was Mac's ride home, he agreed to let Mac drive himself in on that day. The thought of how long Murdoc had been watching them to know that, was concerning. 

"He might not be planning on picking me up," Mac continued, hoping that the longer he kept Murdoc talking the less time he would have to find another way to hurt him. "But when he shows up for work and I'm not there? He'll get worried. And since you had to go and make sure he couldn't call me-thanks for that, by the way-he'll drop everything and head here to see what's wrong. And then you're dead." 

"Then I guess we better find another game to play," A grin spread across Murdoc's face once more and Mac's heart sunk. The clock over the mantle showed that it was nearly time for the workday to begin, Jack should have noticed that he hadn't shown up at Phoenix yet, but he still had to wait for Jack to get from place to place. "This, for example," Murdoc began sifting through the pile of things he had shoved off the coffee table with the toe of his boot, eyes locking in on the thing Mac had most hoped he wouldn't find. "Care to tell me what this is, Angus?" 

"Doesn't really have a name. There are parts from about fifteen different things in there. The cord came from a hair straightener of Riley's that she gave me when the heating element went out," Mac answered honestly, stalling for time. "There's some bits from the toaster, but don't tell Bozer because I haven't gotten around to replacing that-" 

"Not the modifications," Murdoc scolded as he leaned over to plug the device in, seeing right through what Mac was trying to do. "What does it do?" 

"The main components came from a soldering iron," Mac admitted, struggling to think through the pain to come up with a better story than the truth. 

"Of course they did," He smiled appreciatively, flicking the device on and cackling gleefully when a small controlled flame flickered to life. "And now?" 

He knew what he had, there was no point in dignifying his questions with a response. But Mac was still trying to buy himself some time and he knew better than not to answer at all. "It's easier than hauling whatever I'm working on all the way out to the welder in the garage." 

Apparently, answering truthfully was the right way to go because Murdoc nodded, suspicions confirmed, and switched it back off. "Do you know what my favorite part of Halloween is, MacGyver?" He asked, suddenly switching topics. 

"I feel like it's gotta be the blood and gore and creepy movies with villains who always seem to love an annoying monologue, right?" Mac deadpanned, unable to help himself. "That seems like it's in your wheelhouse." 

"Too obvious," Murdoc smirked, happy to see that he hadn't extinguished the spark of sarcasm and defiance that he loved so much. "I hate those movies. It's so much more enjoyable to create horror of your own. But you're not too far off. Because you see, around Halloween everyone develops a love for the macabre. Even you," He looked around Mac's living room appreciatively. "With your spiderwebs and bats and creepy crawlies. Even here in sunny SoCal, it feels cold and damp and dark and it sets the scene perfectly. For the whole month the rest of the world merges with and finally condones my interests." 

"Decorations?" Mac asked flatly. Whatever he had been expecting Murdoc to say, that hadn't been it. "That's what you love about Halloween?" 

"Aesthetic," Murdoc corrected. "Take skeletons, for example. I love them. Absolutely gorgeous. But if I go around displaying all the ones I've collected over the years in my front yard for all to see, I'm suddenly branded a weirdo. Unless it's during the month of October. Such a pity, really, that we don't get to appreciate the beauty of a skeletal form until we're deceased... Speaking of, how's the knee feeling?" 

That, Mac wasn't going to answer. He wasn't going to admit the world of pain he was in and give Murdoc that satisfaction. 

"Not feeling up to talking about it just yet? That's fine. We can keep playing, see if our next game makes you any more talkative," Murdoc assured, letting a gloved hand reach out and tuck a strand of Mac's hair behind his ear, finger caressing down the side of his neck and trailing down to his chest, leaving Mac regretting his decision to fall asleep the night before without wearing a shirt. "Such a shame we can't see that pretty skeleton just yet. But!" Mac cringed, shaking his head away from Murdoc's hand once he saw an idea light up in his eyes. "Today is all about improvising, isn't it?" 

Mac didn't know what Murdoc had planned, only that it involved the welding torch he had hoped he had forgotten about. The demented whistling that haunted more of Mac's nightmares than he liked to admit started up again, though the tune was different this time. He couldn't place it. 

Of course, Murdoc noticed. 

"Oh, come now, MacGyver! You don't recognize the song? It's such a classic. Though I do suppose it isn't quite anatomically correct and I can imagine that really upsetting a young Angus." Murdoc continued, flipping the switch back on and raising the flame closer as the whistling was replaced by words. "The head bone's connected to your... neck bone," And without preamble he brought the flame up to Mac's neck, burning a slow line down the side as he continued singing over the sound of Mac's gasped screams.

"The neck bone's connected to your... shoulder bone," Murdoc continued, extending the burn, tracing a steady path across the top of Mac's shoulder. He must have been struggling too much for the line to stay as straight as Murdoc had wanted, because he paused, setting back to admire his work. "You know, I wasn't sure how today was going to go but I must say, MacGyver, this was a brilliant idea you inspired. Do sit still, we have a ways to go before we come anywhere close to having the entirety of your bones mapped out. Now, where were we? Ah yes, the shoulder bone's connected to your... back bone."

He had barely got the words out before the sound of a bullet being loaded into the chamber of a familiar handgun sounded throughout the room and Mac could have wept with relief.

"Back's exactly where you need to be steppin'," Jack called out, striding closer, desperate to put himself between Mac and the imminent danger Murdoc brought with him wherever he went. "Unless you want me to put a bullet between your eyes right this second."

Murdoc pouted. "I don't suppose you'd let us finish our game before hauling me in? We really were just getting started."

Jack growled, feral and protective, and Murdoc turned off the flame, setting the device onto the floor and raising his hands in surrender.

"Mac?" Jack called hesitantly. He didn't want to take his eyes off Murdoc for even a second but he needed to know that his kid was okay. "Talk to me, buddy. How we doin'?"

"Been better," His voice cracked on the two words, panting through the pain, trying to convince his pounding heart that he was safe. "I'll live. Thanks for showing up when you did, though."

"What the hell did you do to him?" Jack asked, yanking Murdoc to standing and harshly twisting his hands behind his back, a pair of cuffs appearing off of Jack's belt to restrain him.

"Just a little Halloween fun," Murdoc grinned despite the rough handling and imminent imprisonment. "We improvised, didn't we, Angus?" 

"How about I have a little fun of my own and shoot you in the head?" Jack suggested, seething with anger. Knowing that Murdoc was no longer able to lay a hand on his boy and given him a chance to get a better look at Mac and the tears drying on his face and he wanted nothing more than to make the person responsible for it pay. "Mac? That alright with you?" 

It wasn't, and all three of them knew it. No matter what he had done, Mac would never validate taking another life if it could be at all avoided. Even he had to admit that he wouldn't lose much sleep over it though if Jack had acted on the threat without consulting him first. "It's too hard to get bloodstains out of these floors," He said instead, falling back on sarcasm. 

Jack's focus wavered, torn between taking care of Mac or getting Murdoc out of his sight. 

"I'm going to get him outside," He said gently, letting Murdoc stand on his own for a moment so he could reach out a hand and wipe away the tearstains on Mac's cheeks since he couldn't even do that much for himself yet, hands still harshly taped to the chair. "Call this in and get someone en route to take care of him for us and then I'll be right back for you, okay? I'm not leaving, it'll only take a minute." 

"I know," Mac nodded, hoping at least a little bit of his feigned confidence read as authentic since they still had an audience-and a judgy one at that. Even though there was nothing he wanted more than for Jack to wrap him up tight and never let go. "It's fine. I'm fine." 

"Right back,' Jack promised again with one last sweep of his thumb across Mac's cheek before turning back to Murdoc who had been happily watching the tender moment. Neither of them was willing to give him the satisfaction of getting to see any more. "Floors or not, you try anything, and I mean anything," Jack warned, prodding Murdoc towards the door with a press of his gun between his shoulder blades, "And I'll put one in you right here, right now. Maybe more than one, I'm not feeling all too generous at the moment, you hurtin' my boy and all." 

"I didn't hurt him," Murdoc protested, smile still in place. "We were playing a game, Jack. We were improvising. And it was quite fun, I must say." 

"Not for him, it wasn't," Jack pulled the door open and pushed Murdoc on through it. "And you're gonna regret this." 

"Oh, I don't think I will," he shook his head slowly. "This is one of those memories I'm going to hold on to for a long, long time, Jack. And you might be here to keep him safe now, to wrap him up in one of those infamous Jack Dalton bear hugs and try to love all the hurt away, and you might even be close to successful, but you will never be able to take away the memories I've made this morning. From me, or from him." 

They both knew there was a good chance that Mac could still hear them and Jack gave him a shove outside, not bothering to catch him as he stumbled over the door frame. "Not only that, MacGyver," He called once he was steady on his feet, canting his head to make sure his voice carried back into the house before Jack could slam the door shut. "But I'm going to have so much free time now to plan for next time. Planned improvisation, can you imagine? The perfect combination of the two of us? Our skill sets coming together? It will be absolutely magnificent." 

The butt of Jack's gun collided with the back of his head and he dropped to the porch, unconscious before he hit the cement, but Jack knew the damage had already been done. He needed to check on Mac, to do his best to not let the creep's words get any further in his head than they already had. With a groan, frustrated at the entire situation, he hauled Murdoc's body back into the house, double-checking to make sure the handcuffs were still firmly in place and left him in a heap in the entryway, not too far out of sight. 

"Hey," He made sure to keep his voice low as he crossed the living room floor, dropping to a crouch in front of Mac. "Hey, he's not going to hurt you. Not anymore." 

Mac's eyes were glassy, pain and fear a wicked combination that left even Jack unsettled. "He will though. He'll find a way. I should have let you shoot him." 

Jack smiled, a cautious, tentatively hopeful little twist of his lips. "That's still an option, buddy, if that's how you want this to play out." 

Mac flinched when Jack said the word play, not quite able to tamp down the whimper that escaped his lips as the move wracked his hurting body and Jack winced. "Sorry. Bad choice of words there. But I ain't joking. You want him good and dead this time? If that's what it will take to help you get past this one? That's what I'll do." 

"I can't be responsible for taking a son’s father away from him," Mac answered softly, a little bit of life sparking back up in his eyes as he focused on Jack. "No matter who he is." 

Jack nodded. He didn't like it, but it was the answer he had been expecting. "Okay, first step is you telling me what all he did so I know where's safe to start. I can't help you if I don't know what I'm dealing with. Is it alright if I cut through this tape?" 

"The-the burn," Mac answered after giving a careful nod of consent for Jack to begin sawing through the tape around his wrists. "And my knee." 

"Knee?" 

"Bad." 

"Okay, I'll check it out," Jack promised, thankful that he hadn't dropped a reassuring hand on that knee in an attempt at comfort as he so often did. "Let me just check and make sure he's where I..." 

Jack's voice trailed off as he stood up, not seeing Murdoc's crumpled body where he had left it. 

"No," He pulled his gun back out of his waistband, helping Mac temporarily pushed to the back of his mind as he ran to the opened front door. "No!" 

But he was too late. Murdoc was long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it!!! The last one!!! 62 fics in a single month! I'm not exaggerating when I say that just two days ago I was freaking out thinking that I couldn't pull this off. But here we are! Thank you so much to every single person who has read these, you are the reason I keep writing. (And I will get around to replying to all the amazing comments, promise.)


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